Mechanical Failure
by love.devil.movies.baby
Summary: Ororo Munroe is being punished for wrecking her brand new car. Her best friend, Jean, is scandalized that she'll be working along side grease monkeys. But something about that dark haired, muscular mechanic, Logan, has Ro enjoying herself. ROLO-AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

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Water sprayed in every direction, misting the surrounding area and settling on my skin. I glowered through the haze, silently cursing my luck. I ran my eyes over the hood of my ruined vehicle. The hood was bent in the middle and now resembled a recycled soda pop can more than a car. The car was barely a month old and I had ruined. Smoke billowed out from the hood in alarming quantities, mixing with the water and making it nearly impossible to see how bad the damage was. What was exceedingly clear was that the front of my car was crumpled around a bright yellow fire hydrant. Aside from leaning at a 45 degree angle and spewing water across the street, the fire hydrant was fine.

I, on the other hand, was dead. The car was totaled. I didn't need to be a mechanic to tell that. I supposed I should have been grateful that I ran over a fire hydrant and not a tree; the water had at least put out the flames when the engine caught fire. I couldn't help but think I would have been better going up in flames in my ruined Mini Cooper. It wouldn't compare to what my parents were going to do to me when they found out. I had a sudden image of all of my summer plans floating at the window as I realized the pool party I had been on my way to would be the first missed party of many.

"Miss?" a patrol officer approached. He was squinting into the sun at me, his clean shaven face and dark brown hair obscured by the mist in the air. He was standing at a safe distance to ensure that he stayed dry. I was forced to step directly into the spray to get to him. Bracing myself, I ran through. Apparently I wasn't quick enough because the water saturated my clothing. The cotton clung to me like a second skin and I again cursed my decision making. The officer was gracious enough to keeps his eyes on my face. I pushed my damp baseball cap back from my forehead and looked him in the eye. We were about the same height. He was an average sized man; I was tall for a girl. I had long since gotten used to being taller than much of the population, but the officer seemed slightly taken aback by it.

"Yes?" I drew his attention back to the matter at hand, namely, my totaled car.

"We need to take your statement," he regained his professionalism. He pulled a pen out from behind his ear and poised to write. I felt panic well up in my chest. How was I going to explain how I somehow managed to get in a game of chicken with a fire hydrant and lose? I took a deep breath, trying to mentally catalogue my thoughts. There had to be a way to talk myself out of this…

"Well?" the officer was looking at me with annoyance. He was going to be a tough cookie to crack; time to stall. I reached for the bill of my Yankees cap and tugged it off my head. With the exception of my bangs, my hair was mostly dry beneath it. It fell in messy waves down to my shoulders. I watched the officer's eyes widen. I resisted the urge to sigh. My hair, the exact color of newly fallen snow, always attracted attention. On a dare, I had purchased some cheap hair dye in lilac and my best friend Jean and I had highlighted the under layers in front of the mirror in her bathroom. I was pretty pleased with the result, convinced that it added to the shoulder length-cut I had gotten as a graduation present to myself. The car had also been a graduation present. Now it was a smoking pile of scrap metal. The thought brought me back to my current predicament.

"Uh," I stalled, trying to find the best way to phrase my story, "I was driving down the road and I dropped my cell phone. It rolled out of my hand and under the gas pedal. I had to reach down to get it, but I didn't want to do it in the middle of the street so I tried to pull over…"

"And then what happened?" The officer egged me on when I paused.

"I pulled over to the sidewalk. I thought I put the car in park, but I might have forgotten and when I reached down my phone got caught and pressed the gas pedal and I rolled forward."

"And that's when you hit the fire hydrant?" he asked.

"Yes…" it was tough not to keep the shame out of my voice.

"What's your name miss?" the officer seemed undaunted by my tale of stupidity.

"Ororo Munroe," I responded.

He looked up at me skeptically. "I'm going to need to see some ID please." I repressed another sigh. I fished my State of New York driver's license out of my purse. I struggled for a moment, trying to pull it out of the plastic pocket where I kept it. The officer chuckled at my Superman wallet. I felt myself flush. He studied my picture for a moment. I knew the details of the ID were confusing. My height was listed as 5'10", my hair white, my skin brown, my eyes blue. I was a walking contradiction.

"Huh…" the officer mused. He handed me back my license. "Well, Miss Munroe, I'm going to need to see proof of insurance and to contact the owner of the car."

My heart fell into my stomach at the thought of having to call my parents. I felt myself numbly going through the next hour on auto pilot. Another patrol car pulled up, shadowed by my mom and dad. They piled out of their Silver Chevy Impala, my mother already lecturing me. She was shouting in Swahili as she walked toward me. I felt my knees begin to shake. My mother terrified me more than any other force in the world. For the most part we got along, but there were the moments like this that made me quake in my sensible flats.

"Ororo Iquadi Munroe!" the police officers and firemen who were still working on righting the fire hydrant looked up in alarm. My mother had a commanding voice that carried. In the good times, it was as comforting to me as warm, melted chocolate, smooth and rich. Right now, it was terrifying. She had the uncanny ability to command the center of attention no matter where she was. I supposed it was a byproduct of being a Kenyan princess. I've been told that she left her homeland of Africa to be with my American father. He was standing behind her. He was a few inches taller than my mother and I. The brown of his skin held a copper hue that my mother's lacked. He was silent, as usual, observing the damage to my car with what almost looked like indifference. I knew it was anything but. I would be getting my scolding from my father in a more private setting and it would be much more restrained than my mother's disciplinary tactics. My father, David Munroe, liked to employ the "disappointment" approach to parenting, something that had a greater effect on me than my mother's shouting. Right now though, her yelling was doing the trick. I saw my father disappear from behind her to go talk to the authorities and the tow truck that had just arrived.

My mother continued yelling as I shamefully crawled into the backseat of their car. She yelled as we followed the tow truck and got the receipt for my car. She yelled so much that the police chose not to charge me with anything, perhaps assuming that the law could not punish me half as well as she could.

I was beginning to think they were right. So far my phone, internet, television and driving privileges had all been revoked. My father nodded and interjected here and there, talking about responsibility and asking me to clarify for the tenth time how the accident had happened.

"I told you, I dropped my phone and—"

"You shouldn't have been using your phone in the car in the first place!" my mother cut me off. "Who were you calling? Was it that girl Jean? Such a bad influence…"

"N'Dare," my dad interrupted her. My mother never approved of Jean. She was nowhere near as reserved as I was. Her parents were liberal; Jean was allowed to have boys over and cut her hair when she wanted to and dye it when the mood struck. The fact that she and I had sheared nearly a foot off of my tresses and added "that terrible color" was a sore subject with my mother. I thought it was best to keep my mouth shut about the fact that Jean had been calling me.

"The point is, Roro, you acted recklessly." My father continued. "We bought you that car for college under the assumption that you would be responsible enough to care for it and take it to school with you."

"How are we to trust you when you leave for NYU if you cannot even drive down the road at 20 miles an hour?" my mother spun around in the passenger seat and trained her cobalt eyes on me. It was uncanny how much we looked like one another. With the exception of my height, skin tone and age, I was my mother's clone.

"You can trust me mom," I launched into Swahili. It was easier to reason with my mother in her native tongue.

"We know," my dad moved to smooth over the situation before my mother could start again. "But you will have to earn our trust back." I nodded.

"You father tells me that your car can be salvaged," my mother turned back around and folded her arms beneath her breasts.

This was news to me. I felt myself smiling a little at the thought that I might be able to drive my little yellow car again.

"It will cost money. Money that you are going to have to earn," my dad clarified.

I nodded. I had expected no less. My mother must have sensed my growing relief because she turned around again to shoot me down.

"Your father has a friend who owns a mechanical shop. You will work there and learn to repair your own vehicle." My face fell.

"You start tomorrow," my dad clarified.

"I know nothing about mechanics! I nearly failed the subject in school because of my clumsiness!" This unfortunately was true. I had barely managed to squeak by with a C, something that had lowered my GPA and jeopardized my chances at a scholarship.

"All the more reason to learn." My mother said this in a tone that made it clear the conversation was over.

My visions of a relaxing summer flitted away.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

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"They're making you work in a garage?" Jean gasped. We were seated on her bed. Jean's legs were crossed under her, her pale white toes just peaking past he knees. Her toenails were painted a bright, shocking pink, matching the manicure on her hands. I had chosen a more conservative sky blue, thinking that perhaps it matched my eyes.

"To be fair, I did crash my car," I answered for the umpteenth time. Jean didn't seem to grasp the fact that some parents punish their children beyond just a hand slap.

"But it wasn't your fault!" Jean was concentrating on dotting little matching white flowers on my ring finger nails.

"I was alone in the car Jean. I hit a fire hydrant." I was working hard to keep the amusement out of my voice. Jean was always in my corner after all, and her righteous indignation to me having to find a summer job that involved soiling my hands and ruining my manicure was appreciated.

"That's not the point. The point is that they are willing to put their attractive, 18-year old daughter in a garage filled with grease monkeys who are going to ogle your rack all day long."

"Thanks, Jean. That makes me feel great about working there." I rolled my eyes and brought my hands up to blow on my wet nails.

"I'm just saying. It's a good thing you do dress like a nun. Otherwise there'd be a line of men a mile long." Jean screwed the top back on the nail polish.

"Not having my boobs and legs and ass hanging out doesn't mean I dress like a nun." The only time I ever cursed was around Jean. Sometimes, it seemed to be the only way to make her understand. "And besides, I can hold my own against guys." I took a moment to admire the way the blue paint was drying.

"That's my point. You get along too well with guys." Jean said knowingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I was only half listening now, bracing myself for one of Jean's patented "boy talks."

"Guys love you. They want to be your friend, watch the game with you, hang out." I opened my mouth but was cut off. "but they do not want to date you." She punctuated this statement by smacking her palm on her bedspread.

"Well," I said in an unconcerned way, "I suppose fixing cars will be another trait boys and I will have in common." Jean looked positively scandalized. "Relax," I told her. "Maybe I'll meet a guy at the shop."

Jean snorted. "Sure…" she muttered.

I just laughed. "Well, my car will be fixed at any rate. It won't be that bad."

Jean wasn't listening to me. She had her iPhone in her lap and was working on trying to text someone with wet nails.

"Did you hear that Emma has started dating Scott?" Jean asked.

"No." truth was, I didn't care. Emma and Jean had been fighting a popularity battle for years now. Emma was the typical pretty blonde. She had developed early, and enjoyed flaunting it. At some point she had considered me a rival. That was before she realized that while I was a friend to the school's hottest boys, she was the one they took to dinner.

"I thought Scott was going to ask me out." Jean was starting to pout.

"And I thought that you wanted to date that kid from the party." I couldn't stand it when Jean pouted. I began thinking of a way to escape and perhaps hang out with my male best friend, Remy Lebeau. Remy and I had been friends since diapers. He was like a big brother. Our families hung out on weekends and I suspected nearly everyone thought he and I would end up together. Remy and I both knew that while we loved each other, it was nothing like that.

"What kid?" Jean still lingered in her self-pity.

"What was his name? The one who just got arrested?" Jean had a streak a mile wide for bad boys. I never could understand it. I didn't need a man to make me feel dangerous. Soft spoken and calm as I appeared to be, the truth was that I could do bad all by myself.

"Wade?" she asked, already perking up.

"Yes. The convict." I stated calmly.

"But he's hot!" Jean said this in a way that made it seem like physical attractiveness negated all personality flaws.

"He stole a car. And he's a jerk. You can do better." I told her.

"I guess…" the pout had resurfaced. I began to feel the customary tickle of annoyance that accompanied Jean's bouts of selfishness. I contemplated calling another friend, but then remembered that I no longer had the privilege of a phone. I glanced at Jean's bedside clock and noticed that my ride would be here at any moment to shuffle me back to the ball and chain of being grounded and in my parent's house.

"I need to go. If I'm late downstairs, my mother will really kill me." Jean looked disappointed that our talk had concluded before she could start her list of all the reasons she was better than Emma.

"Alright." She slid off of her bed and led me morosely down the stairs. Her parents were out, as usual, this time at some event for animal rights advocacy.

"Have a good rest of your day. I'm sorry I can't hang out anymore." I apologized at the front door.

"Yeah, I get it. Being grounded sucks. See if you can't sneak a phone call tonight though. Or at least a Skype chat. I want to talk to you more." The 'about Scott' part went unsaid. I smiled at her though, promised I would give it my best effort, and headed out of her front door.

A cherry red el Camino sat in her driveway, and I felt my face split into a huge grin.

"Chere!" Remy Lebeau's head became visible from behind his most prized possession. His Cajun accent colored his French greeting.

"Hello!" I dove head long into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Why are you here?"

"Picking you up. I heard you got in a fight with a fire hydrant and lost," he burst into hysterical laughter. It was a testament to our friendship that I shrugged it off.

"My parents are making me fix the car myself. At some mechanics." I told him as we slid onto the leather bench seats of the Camino.

"Qui? Which one?"

"The one on Central and Jefferson. I guess it's a family owned place." I stared out the window at the scenery, feeling jealous of my classmates who were getting ready for barbeques and other non-grounded events.

"Oh, I know that one. Or at least, a few people who work there. Be careful, Stormy," Remy cautioned. He used my nickname, the one I said I hated but secretly loved, bestowed on me the winter we both turned 8 and a reference to the color of my hair matching the snow in his front yard. It had been Remy's first experience with snow, and his first time out of the Bayou.

"Why careful?" I questioned, on alert now.

"The boys in there are nice enough, but they've never worked with a girl as pretty as you, chere. I'm hoping I won't have to hurt anyone to protect your honor." I snorted and laughed. "When do you start?" he asked me.

"Tomorrow." The thought killed my happy feeling. I pasted on a smile, but secretly took Remy's warning to heart.

"Good luck. Maybe you can help me with my baby next time she needs an oil change. Of course, you'll have to wear one of those one piece suits and unzip it a little bit." He shot me a devilish grin, his teasing successfully restoring my good mood.

Maybe it won't be so terrible after all, I thought as I got ready for bed later that night. At least, I will learn something.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

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The mechanics shop was located downtown. Getting there was a miniature Odyssey of public transportation; my mother had informed me that I needed to report for work at 9. I was allowed to research my bus route via internet the night before and realized that it took about 45 minutes to get there. As it was my first day, I wanted to be early, if only to get my bearings before the rest of the workers arrived. Which is why my alarm chimed bright and early at 7 the first day in July. My summer was to be one of early mornings.

I was unsure of what to wear to work in a place that repaired cars. I settled on jeans that I had owned for several years and an olive colored t shirt with a pattern of Africa on the front. I pulled my hair back into a little nub of a ponytail, swiped on a hint of mascara, seized my bus card and was out of the door before 8. My parents were already at work; my mother at the little book store she co-owned with Remy's mother, and my father at the local newspaper where he worked as a photojournalist. A note has been taped to the refrigerator door, that read simply, "Do your best."

The bus emitted the sour smell of spoilt milk and something like dried urine. I chose a seat next to an open window and breathed shallowly, ignoring the leer of a significantly older man sitting to the right of me. Male attention was nothing new, but attention of this sort made me skittish. I counted down the stops until the shop, becoming increasingly more nervous. Finally, the archaic bus groaned to a stop, spewing out a black cloud from its tailpipe, and deposited me in front of a rusty bus stop. I walked the block around the corner quickly, aware that the creepy older man had gotten off at the same stop. When I came within sight of the building, I stopped.

It looked much like I had imagined it would: a modest-sized concrete structure decorated in oil stains and discarded car parts, with a banner that proclaimed "Bill's Repair Shop" unceremoniously. I approached the clear glass doors and pushed my way in. The sound of the string of bells dangling from the doors in the otherwise silent room startled me.

"Hello?" I questioned.

There was no answer. I walked slowly across the cheap linoleum floor, mentally cataloguing the surroundings. The counter was home to a computer that looked as though it had been several years since anyone had manufactured that model. The counter was cheap imitation marble and the lighting was stark overhead. A water cooler sat complacently in the corner next to a small television and several plastic chairs. A couch, nearly concave in the middle, was the centerpiece. Several magazines were strewn about a plastic stand. It could not have been clearer to me that this job would be an adjustment. My room was orderly, each object in its proper place. Unlike the egg shell white walls here, I had painted mine a soft blue, to imitate the sky outside and to calm my claustrophobia. My green thumb had compelled me to place potted plants on the windowsill, my desk and even some ivy grown carefully around my four poster bed. There were no homey touches here. I tried not to dwell on the stark simplicity of it all and continued through a back door.

I emerged in what could only be the garage. It smelled strongly of steel and oil and was even more sparsely decorated than the front room. Spanning from every corner were tool boxes, wrenches, tires, spare parts, oil, soiled rags and clipboards. A few cars, in various states of disrepair, sat waiting to be fixed. I could faintly hear the sound of music coming from a little room in the corner. I walked toward the door and knocked. Someone inside moved around and swung open the door.

"Yeah?" the voice was deep, gravelly, almost a growl. The man it came from almost made my knees weak. He was a few inches taller than me, with jet black hair that seemed to grow indiscriminately all over his body. It was most pervasive on the top of his head, shooting upward in unkempt, wavy locks that trailed down impressive sideburns to dust his cheeks with what was clearly more than a five o'clock shadow. He was broad, his body nearly filling the doorway and he had cobalt grey eyes that seemed to be assessing me. He had on a one-piece jumpsuit type outfit that had seen better days. The patch, worn and smeared with what I assumed was oil, informed me that I was looking at Logan, or at least a man wearing Logan's uniform.

"Hi. I'm Ororo Munroe." I kept my voice steady even as I felt my body break into a cold sweat at the sight of the intimidating man in front of me. He gave no indication that he knew who I was, so I continued. "I'm working here this summer, learning how to fix my car." I chose to omit the reason why my car needed fixing at all. "Today's my first day. I was told to be here by 9."

"Who told you that?" his cold gaze had not shifted from my face. I swallowed hard and continued.

"I don't know. The owner I guess. My parents—"

"Oh! You're that broad who ran her car into a pole or something." He chuckled and I felt defensive. "You're early." I chanced a glance at the clock. It was 8:55.

"I guess I am." I agreed.

"Shop don't open until 10. I'm usually the only one here this early. Did Bill tell you to show up?" he asked me.

I had no desire to inform him that my parents had told me to arrive at 9. "I think so…" I ventured a roundabout answer.

"Alright, come in." he shifted back, allowing a foot wide space for me to squeeze by him into the minuscule office. "Name's Logan." He held out a broad calloused palm and I took it.

"You gotta good handshake," he complimented.

"Thank you."

"You always this proper?" he asked me as he flopped into a chair that barely looked as though it could support his weight.

"Proper?" I simply thought I was being polite. Not that the man in front of me looked like he knew the meaning of the word. No problem. I knew guys like him from school. I had handled them all through high school and I could handle him now.

"You ever worked with cars before?" he continued on as though I hadn't spoken.

"No." my answer was short.

"Makes sense. I saw your car. Looks like you barely even know how to drive." I felt my face flush and my temper flare. He noticed. "Hey, don't get all offended. You'll know how to fix it by the end of the summer. It ain't in too bad shape." I nodded, swallowing my anger before it got the better of me.

"You need a uniform. We don't have any with a name like yours. They don't even sell a patch for it. How do you say it again?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. His question, after all, was not uncommon. "O-ro-ro" I annunciated simply.

"What's it mean?"

"Beauty." This answer always embarrassed me. "In Swahili," I continued. "My mother is from Africa."

"Explains your shirt," was the only comment he offered as he bent under his desk to retrieve something. "Here," he thrust some blue-gray material into my hands that matched his uniform. "Best we could do on a short notice."

I unfolded it, noticing that it could have easily fit Andre the Giant and also that the name patch said "Roy".

"Thank you," I forced out, determined to ignore his amused grin.

"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.

"18."

His grin turned almost predatory. "You've got a lot to learn, darlin'."

That thought scared me a bit.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! Let me know what you think!**

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I spent the next uncomfortable hour of my life shadowing Logan as he showed me around the shop. There wasn't much to it beyond what I had already seen, but I nodded politely anyway, interjecting with questions when it was appropriate.

"Just watch and learn today." He said finally, five minutes before ten.

Watch and learn I did. The rest of the staff began to show up at a quarter until opening. They were naturally all men, variants of the big, burly type. The owner, Bill Stryker, was a graying, stoic man. I sensed very quickly he was not the type to be trifled with. He was ex-military, a fact he was quick to inform me of, and expected me to pull my weight. He made an appearance for about an hour before storming out, informing me that when he was gone, Logan was second in command.

Besides Logan and Stryker, there were several others. A giant wall of a man with long blonde hair introduced himself to me as Victor Creed. He was bigger than Logan, and looked as though he could easily crush someone with his bare hands. His grin was wide and toothy as he shook my hand, and he gave me a not so subtle once over. I made a mental note not to be alone with Victor Creed. The last man looked younger than both Logan and Victor, possibly a year or so older than me. He was just as bulky as his coworkers, but had more lean muscle then Logan's well-defined biceps or Victor's barrel chest. His skin was cinnamon brown and he had short black hair. I would guess he was Native American. He introduced himself to me as Forge. When I asked for his real name, he told me Forge was good enough.

I spent the whole day watching the men work. Logan pulled double duty, running back and forth from the counter to the office to the garage. He was a hard worker and a serious looking person; he wore a frown more often than not, especially when he was dealing with Creed. The two men seemed locked in some sort of contest, whether to get on one another's nerves or for something else, I didn't know. Forge was the quietest; he worked with flawless efficiency, repairing, making notes on his clipboard and wandering around like I wasn't there. He shrugged off Victor's teasing, keeping to himself instead.

I wondered which man would be the easiest to follow around. I wanted to learn something about cars, but Logan intimidated me, Victor scared me, and I couldn't get up the confidence to approach Forge.

"Hey chickadee!" the boisterous call startled me. It took a moment to realize that Victor Creed was gesturing me over toward him. I approached with caution.

"Yes?" he leered at my chest and I was startled, until I noticed he was laughing at the patch proclaiming me Roy.

"Prettiest Roy I've ever seen," his grin widened and so did my discomfort.

"Thanks. What are you working on?" I tried to steer the subject towards cars.

"Fixing this piece of crap." He banged a dinner plate sized palm on the hood of a Toyota. I could have sworn it left a dent.

"What's wrong with it?" I ventured again.

"It won't run. Piece of shit."

It was clear I would be getting no help from Victor.

Forge, at very least, was helpful, though his terminology was far too advanced for my mechanical knowledge. I contented myself by watching the way his mouth moved as he spoke. He had firm lips, and a deep calming voice. It became obvious to me that if I didn't watch out, I would fall for him. He was just my type.

"Roy!" Logan practically growled at me, startling me out of my reverie. "The tow truck just got here with your car. Let's take a look at it." He turned before I could respond.

"Roy?" Forge's voice held just the hint of a laugh.

"No one makes name patches with Ororo on them," I explained, a little embarrassed.

He did laugh this time, a warm throaty sound. "Well, I think Ororo is much more befitting of you than Roy." I'd never heard anyone use the word 'befitting' before. I smiled at him.

"Hey!" Logan poked his head back in. "Get out here and sign for your car before I change my mind about helping you with it."

"You're helping me fix my car?" I questioned wearily outside as I handed the tow truck employee his clipboard back.

"Unless you'd rather have Creed." He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. I turned around to see Victor watching me from the office like a lion watches its prey.

"I was thinking maybe Forge—"

"Look." Logan had turned full on me now, his eyes staring me down. "I'm helping you with the car. The sooner we get it fixed, the sooner you're out of my hair and back giggling it up with your friends." My mouth fell open at his rudeness, but he wasn't finished. "Forge doesn't know how to teach, he's too smart. Besides, you ain't going to learn anything drooling over him like you've been doing the last hour. Your parents want you to fix your car. So you and me are going to fix it."

So many things about what he said offended me that I couldn't find the words to retort.

"You know, darlin', that look you're giving me ain't going to make this easier. I've got enough to do around here without you tagging along. We both don't want to be doing this. So let's grin and bear it." He checked his watch. "You're done for today. See you tomorrow at 9. We'll start on your car." He stomped off.

I gathered my belongings in shock and made my way out of the door.

"Good job today, Roy." Forge called after me, a mischievous smile etched on his handsome face.

On the bus home, I decided to focus on the positives of my new job. And so I pushed all thoughts of Logan aside and replaced them with his brown-skinned coworker.

Focusing on adorable mechanics was better than thinking about the surly ones.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

**A/N: So I changed this chapter quite a bit. I hope it makes more sense now.**

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I smelled like oil and metal. Always, even when I went home and showered, the smell followed me like some kind of plague, lingering. Jean wrinkled her nose the first time she came over after work and smelled me. She wanted me to help her with her hair, but ended up spending a half hour in my bathroom trying to wash the smell out of mine. It was no use; oil is a terrible smell, but oil drenched in lavender is something altogether unappealing. After a week, I didn't notice it as much. After two weeks, even Jean stopped complaining, but Remy had given up the habit of kissing me on the head.

It was a slow day at the garage. More often than not, I was stationed up front at the counter. Bill had noticed a trend since I began working at the garage. High school aged boys had started coming in for all sorts of mundane things: oil changes, tire rotations, tune-ups. I didn't notice it at first, not until Bill brought it up.

"That pretty smile of yours is bringing in the customers sweetheart. We better put you up front."

I was leaning on the counter, reading a _Popular Mechanics_ magazine that was several months old when Scott Summers strode through the door.

"Hey Roro." He greeted in an overly cheerful voice. Scott was a nice enough guy, but he tried too hard to please. I had known him for several years and had never seen him make an enemy of anyone. Something about his apparent perfection grated on my nerves. I could see why Jean liked him though; he was handsome in a classical way, with dark brown hair and blue eyes and a kind smile. I didn't know what he was doing with Emma Frost.

"Why hello, what was your name again?" Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Emma's cultured tones assaulted my ears.

"Emma, you know Ororo," Scott reached back for the blonde. "We've been in school together for years."

"Oh, yes." Emma Frost had platinum hair, so blonde it was almost white. She was well-endowed, so well-endowed that she looked likely to tip over. Always primped and polished to a shallow perfection, Emma was the fantasy of every guy in our graduating class and the bane of Jean's very existence. Compared to her Boy Scout boyfriend, Emma was like a wolf in sheep's clothing. I had a feeling I knew why she was dating Scott and it had less to do with emotions and more to do with pissing off Jean.

"Hey," I greeted simply, closing my magazine. "Did you need something?" I tried to ignore the smug look Emma gave me as she clutched Scott's arm.

"My car is making a terrible sound. Scott wanted to fix it himself, but I heard you were working here now. Will you take a look?" Emma fixed her deceptive eyes on me and smiled a simpering smile.

"Well, I'm no good at cars. Still learning, I guess," I laughed at the understatement that was. "But I'm sure someone here can fix it. Why don't you bring it around back?" I looked at the couple expectantly.

"Scott, baby, can you do it?" she nearly pouted. I nearly vomited.

"Sure, hon." And he scooted off, like a good little servant.

"So, Roro—"

"_O_-roro," I corrected. It was bad enough that Scott heard Jean call me that and decided it was ok for him to. But Emma was not given the privilege.

"Ororo. Or is it Roy?" she paused to let her point sink in, but I didn't flinch. Emma didn't get under my skin the way she did with others. "I noticed you're not shadowing Jean to any summer parties. Too busy?"

"Well, it's not easy to learn to fix a car. It's a full-time job." I held the door open for her and gestured to the garage.

"Hey, chickadee, who's this fine specimen you brought with you?" Victor's booming voice objectified us both in one sentence.

"Emma Frost. We graduated together." I introduced her. To my annoyance all eyes turned to her at once. Victor was openly leering and licking his lips; Logan peered up with some interest and Forge completely stopped what he was doing. I felt the first pang of jealousy. I had been trying to capture Forge's attention now to no avail. I regained my senses when Scott pulled in with her little white Mustang. Typical. I'd never seen someone wear a color as consistently as Emma wore white.

"So what's wrong with your car, gorgeous?" Victor asked her.

"It's making a dreadful sound!" this theatric proclamation was accompanied by a hand to the chest. I held in a snort.

"Well, let's take a look at it." This came from Forge. He had crawled out from under the hood of a Chevy to address her. She sashayed over to him. I suddenly became very aware of my baggy clothing. I also became very aware of how Forge was looking at Emma. I'd spent all of high school watching pubescent boys slobber over her like dogs in heat. It was one of the reasons I never dated. I couldn't stand the shallow boys. Forge looked an awful lot like one of my old classmates at that moment.

"So, how's life, Roro?" Scott asked as we both watch his girl flirt with Forge and Victor.

"Fine. And yourself?" I hated small talk.

"Good." An awkward silence spread between us. "How's Jean?" he asked suddenly.

"She's fine. She's having fun this summer. Have you seen her?"

"No. Emma doesn't-" he rubbed the back of his head, upsetting the odd red-tinted sunglasses he always wore.

"Emma doesn't like anyone." I said simply. He laughed a little. "I think you should go visit Jean. She would like that."

"Do you think?" the hopeful light in his face was so innocent it warmed me.

"If you want something, Scott, don't settle." I glanced at Emma who was now arching her back and leaning far too closely to Victor. "Go for it."

"Roy!" by now I was used to Logan calling me this. "Let's work on your car. I've got a few minutes." He stepped out of his office. He had pushed the top of his uniform down and it was not bunched around his waist, exposing a graying tank top and biceps that could have been on the cover of a magazine. Emma stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, a gleam in her eyes that I have seen before. My jealousy turned to anger.

"Hello," she held out her hand flirtatiously.

"Hey." Logan didn't spare her a glance, but gestured to me.

"Good bye, Scott." I said. But my friend did not hear me. He was watching his girlfriend watch Logan. I could feel the heat coming off of him.

A half hour later, the air had cleared and Emma had been informed that nothing at all was wrong with her car. I stood out behind the garage with Logan, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"You did a number on this engine, darlin'. We're going to have to build it up from scratch." He hefted the engine out and set it on the ground in front of me. I sighed, but seized a wrench and went to work loosening bolts. While I stood there, sweating over the car, I took a moment and looked at Logan. Really looked. And after several moments of looking, I came to one inescapable conclusion: the man was gorgeous. Sure, Forge was pretty, but something about Logan was wild, earthy, untamed. He was so unlike the boys I was used to that it frightened me. I contemplated why it had taken me so long to notice it. It irritated me that it had taken Emma Frost's attention to make me notice.

"You went to school with that blondie?" Logan asked a few minutes later, perhaps noticing my silence.

"Why? Do you want her number?" I became aware that my voice had a sharp tone to it too late.

"She's not my type. Too high maintenance." He sounded amused. "I can see you like her."

I smiled wryly. "I never cared about her. But she and my best friend don't get along."

"Cat fight?"

"That's an understatement." I looked up at him, admiring the way his pecs looked in that shirt.

"She pranced in here like the cat that got the cream," I laughed at his odd phrase.

"She liked you." I said.

"She liked Forge even better," he said, shooting me a pointed look. "Seems like it's going around."

I felt myself blush. "Forge is…well he's kind of—"

"Boring?" Logan supplied.

I said nothing, but I realized that Logan had pinpointed what I had been slowly realizing the last two weeks. I laughed at the absurdity of it.

"I think you need someone with a little more fire than that." He told me.

I watched him heft the engine back into his thick arms and put it back in my car. It was too bad he was so much older than me.

"Is that your natural hair?" he asked, taking me by surprise.

"You're wondering if the carpet matches the drapes?" his eyes widened, but he laughed. "With the exception of the lavender, yes. I get it from my mother. And she from hers. It runs in the family."

"I like it. It suits you." He offered me a small smile. The rest of the day passed more pleasantly than it began. Logan seemed to have learned patience overnight. He took me step by step through banging out the dents. The outside of my car, he explained, was essentially fine. Nothing a new paint job couldn't solve. But the inner workings were where the mystery was. He told me that my car should have been totaled, and he didn't understand why my parents insisted I fix it. I told him he didn't understand my parents.

"Responsibility is a big deal for them. When I go away to school, they want to be sure I will be able to take care of myself."

Logan grunted. "Makes sense."

"Hey Logan, it's quitting time." Forge stepped outside to shout at us. "Ororo. Your friend gave me her number. Think I've got a chance?"

Logan snorted. "Lay off that jailbait, Cheyenne. Nothing but trouble." Forge hit him good naturedly in the arm.

"I could say the same to you." He and Logan grinned at one another and I wondered what they were talking about.

"C'mon, Roy. I'll walk you to the bus." Logan set the engine down and reached for my hand.

I accepted.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

**A/N: I changed quite a lot about the previous chapter. So if you didn't read the changes, you should go back one so you can follow the story a little better. Thanks so much for your reviews and suggestions. I hope I'm taking them to heart!**

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On a Friday a week later, I ran downstairs at 8 in the morning to see my mother sitting at the table in the kitchen.

"Mom! You scared me!" I skidded to a halt.

"Good morning, Ororo." She said calmly, flipping through the newspaper. Her snow white hair was already pulled back into a top knot and her skin was clean and smooth. She looked put together, but she was wearing slacks and a loose cotton blouse, her "off day" clothing.

"Are you off of work today?" I lowered myself into a chair opposite hers.

"Simply going in late," she folded the newspaper neatly and laid it on the table. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Alright," I reached for an orange from an ornate African bowl.

"Things in the garage are going well, yes?" she asked.

"I'm learning. I can do an oil change by myself now." I slipped a wedge of the sweet fruit between my lips and thought about Logan showing me step by step how to do it. He had leaned into me so close.

"And your car?"

"It's coming along. The engine is pretty destroyed. It's taken a while to build it up." she nodded, satisfied with the answer and sipped her green tea. It was a passion we both shared. I was like my mother in most ways. Even my wild streak came from her. She had learned to tame herself as an adult, but her fire always brewed there, just under the surface. My father was the only one who could coax it out at will.

"You are doing this alone?" my mother continued her calm assault of questions.

"No. Logan is helping me." At her slightly confused look, I clarified. "he supervises at the shop."

"So, you work with this Logan most often?" I began to get nervous.

"Uh-huh."

"That is not a word, Ororo." Proper English was not an option in my house.

"I'm sorry."

"You are forgiven. Anyhow, my favor is this: I was going to ask you to extend an invitation for dinner tonight to Mr. William Stryker, however, in light of new information, I would like you to invite this Logan."

I felt a strange wave of nervousness. "Logan? Here tonight?"

"Is there a reason he should not come?" my mom fixed me with her best 'don't lie to me stare'.

"No. I'm just wondering why?"

"To thank him for his help. And also, to see what you have learned." She said. She stood up. "Dinner will be at 7 tonight."

I stressed about dinner on the bus. After I had finished my orange I bolted upstairs and rifled through my closet, trying to find something acceptable to wear for dinner with Logan. The trouble was, I needed to maintain professionalism in front of my parents. There was also the small fact that Logan was technically my boss and that it would be highly inappropriate for me to develop feelings for him. So there was no real reason at all to be nervous.

My butterflies as I worked alongside him that morning must have been because of something I ate the night before. It was just a stomachache, that's all. And the cold sweat I broke out into as I bent over a car and Logan leaned over me was because it was hot in the garage, not because his body felt so solid behind mine. And the reason I hadn't invited him as of one that afternoon was because I had been busy, not because I was nervous.

"What's up with you today, Roy?" Logan asked. "You're normally smiling and running around here getting in my way." His teasing had lost the bite I had first assumed it had.

"I'm fine. Just a long day." He nodded.

"The weekend is almost here."

"Do you have plans?" I asked him, bracing myself to ask him to dinner.

"Nothing fancy darlin'. You?"

"Would you like to come to dinner tonight?" I blurted. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"You asking me out?" he leaned over and smiled slowly. Oh damn, I felt like I was going to pass out.

"My parents—they wanted to invite you, to thank you." I stuttered. I _never_ stuttered.

"Oh, so your _parents _are asking me out." His grin broadened. "Tonight, you said?"

"At seven." I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I'd love to Roy, but I promised someone I would spend time with them tonight."

A girlfriend. I should have known. No one like Logan could be single, looking like he did, all scruffy and warm and wild and smelling so nice…

"Oh, you could bring her, if you'd like." I felt the offer slip past my lips before I fully registered it.

"What makes you think it's a her?" his dark black brows waggled.

"Dinner is at seven," I repeated. "I'll set an extra place for her." I refused to back down. I needed to see who I was up against.

"I'll come." He agreed. I nodded and moved as quickly as I dared to outside before he could see the look of mild heartbreak register on my face.

At 5, Remy came and picked me up from work. I bolted to his car after a shouted goodbye to the men.

"Roy, wait up!" Logan's heavy footsteps thundered out to Remy's Camino. He bent over and peered in at me through the passenger window. "How am I supposed to get to your house if you don't give me the address, darlin'?"

"Oh, sorry." I was aware of the fact that Remy was watching the both of us hard. I scribbled down my address and slid it to him.

"See you at seven." He winked, waved at Remy and then walked back inside.

"So that's who we're suppin' with tonight?" Remy joked as we drove down the highway.

"You're coming to dinner?" I asked, surprised.

"And Jeannie." He said. My mood brightened.

"That should make it more bearable." I was acutely aware of how fast my heart still pounded.

"Hmmm…" Remy shot me a disbelieving look. "He seems a little old for you, Stormy."

"What?" I faked innocence.

"Remy's never seen you so excited about a boy before."

I didn't bother to deny it. Remy could read me like a book anyway. "He has a girlfriend. He's bringing her tonight." My voice cracked.

"Then you and Jean better clean you up real nice, no?" he smiled mischievously at me.

"Remy! I can't—I couldn't steal…" my mouth gaped open and closed.

"Who said anything about stealing, petite? Show him what's he's missing." My shock turned to a conspirators smile. I could always count on Remy to get into trouble with me. We turned the corner to my block.

"I thought you didn't like me liking boys," I teased.

"Seems like you ignore me anyway." He touched his hand to his heart in faux-sadness. "And besides Stormy, you've been alone too long. Time for a summer romance, no?" he stopped the car in my driveway.

"Let's go get me ready," I agreed. I was going to knock Logan dead.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel and are not being used for profit, only an exercise in creativity.**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Here goes another chapter...**

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"Ororo, could you get the lasagna out of the oven?" my mom was rushing around the kitchen, putting the final touches on dinner. I set the steaming hot dish down on top of the stove and quickly straightened the place settings. My mother, being former royalty, always conducted dinner parties with all the bells and whistles. I was nervous about how Logan was going to fit into such a proper setting.

"You look good, Stormy." Remy leaned in to tell me. After a mild panic upstairs, Jean had coerced me into choosing a sky blue dress with white flowers. It showed off "just enough", at least according to Jean. I was aware that (in Remy's words at least) I had a "bottle shaped body like Mrs. Butterworth". Jean encouraged me to flaunt it, but I had no desire to incur the wrath of my mother. She believed in a healthy body image, but dressing like a "woman of the night" was another thing altogether.

"Thanks, Rem." My white hair dusted my shoulders as I stood up. It was down, styled in choppy layers. Jean was setting out a huge glass pitcher of iced tea. Her low cut emerald top was disguised under a tasteful brown jacket. Jean had agreed to come support my "love of hairy mechanics" on the condition that I consider sneaking out with her tonight to go to a party. Emma had apparently just broken it off with Scott and Jean was ready to make her move. She needed my moral support and more importantly, my wild streak.

"Alright," she walked over to us, "Let's see what you like so much about this guy," she fiddled with her nails.

"I know Logan can't compare to the ethereal perfection that is Scott Summers, but be nice Jean." I snapped a little. I was fully aware of the fact that I had sung Logan's praises nonstop for a week and a half now, but I'd been listening to her talk about Summers for more than a year. Jean took my point.

"Sorry," she reached out to straighten the strap of my dress. "I'll be nice."

"It's almost 7 now," my dad walked into the kitchen. He had changed out of his work suit to a casual button down and jeans. My mom was wearing a long tribal dress from back home. She looked like a goddess.

The sound of gravel crunching started my heart beating frantically.

"Stay calm, Roro." Remy whispered in my ear.

"Well, Ororo, please invite in your guests." My mom instructed.

I hurried to the door and swung it open. A girl was stepping out of a pickup truck in our driveway. She had dark black hair and was a few inches shorter than me. Despite the fact that it was summer, she was wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt.

"Hurry up, Logan!" she called good naturedly. She sounded like she had a southern accent.

"I'm coming," Logan emerged from the other side of the truck. His black dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow and unbuttoned, allowing a peak of a black ribbed tank top. Dark jeans and black Doc Martens completed the look. His messy hair looked like someone had run a comb through it, but it was still wild. He clutched a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand.

"Hey Ororo," it was the first time I could recall him saying my name. It sounded wonderful coming out of his firm lips.

"Oh, you're Ororo!" the Southern girl smiled brightly at me. I noticed that two streaks of her hair were a brilliant white, like a skunk. "I'm Marie, but everybody calls me Rogue!"

"Hello," I reached out and shook her hand, a little bewildered by her energy. She struck me as the kind of girl I could like. She was young, maybe a year or so younger than me. Surely Logan wasn't dating someone still in high school.

"These are for you and your mom," Logan shoved the flowers in my hand a little awkwardly, as though the gentlemanly gesture bothered him.

"Thank you," I smiled warmly at him and handed the bouquet to my mother.

They stepped into my foyer and I made the proper introductions. My parents smiled politely and invited them into the table.

Marie sat down in a chair next to Remy. I noticed that she didn't leave a seat open for Logan. In fact, the only vacant seat was next to me. Logan deposited his heavy body next to mine.

"Thanks for having us Mrs. Munroe." He smiled at her, almost bashfully. My mother thanked him.

"So, Logan," my dad began a few minutes into dinner, "How long have you worked with Bill?"

Logan cleared his throat. "A few years now. Since high school at least."

"Logan is pretty much second in command over there," Marie chimed in helpfully. "He'll be owning the place before he's 25 if he keeps it up!"

This interested me. I had pegged Logan for at least 25 years old.

"Pipe down, kid," Logan grinned affectionately across the table. That didn't sound like a boyfriend comment. In fact, he was looking at Marie the way Remy looked at me.

"How do you two know each other?" Jean's question saved me from the anguish of wondering.

"Logan and I used to be foster siblings," Marie's accent colored her speech, "but then when he turned 18 we had to split up. Bill took Logan in for a while, awful nice of him. I guess Logan was as real hard worker and Bill thought it might rub off on me because he took me in right before I turned 17. Bill ain't home a lot though, so it's Logan who looks after me most of the time."

The story stunned me. I glanced over at the man in question. He rose an eyebrow and shrugged.

"How long have you been doing that?" I asked.

"He's been like a big brother since I was 13. I never knew my parent's and Logan's ain't around no more. We're all each other's got. 'Cept next year I'll be 18 next year and Logan won't have to worry about me no more." Marie answered for him.

He snorted. "Don't think I'll ever have to not worry about you, squirt." She stuck out her tongue at him.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. She was like his little sister, not his girlfriend. If possible, I liked him even more now. Something about men with paternal instincts made me a sucker.

"You are quite young for such a responsibility," my mother interjected. "Ororo mentioned that you are often put in charge of the garage." Logan shot me a look out of the side of his eye. I stared intently at my napkin. My mother continued. "That is impressive. It's good to see young men have not lost all their values," she glanced at the flowers now sitting on the middle of the table.

"20 isn't all that young." Logan said nonchalantly. "Ro's younger than me and she's already a pro in the shop." He smiled at me. "She works the counter like she's been doing it for years and I'd trust her to change my oil any day." I felt warm at his praise. My parents smiled their approval at me.

"You look older than 20," Remy said bluntly. I shot him a warning look he completely ignored.

"It's the sideburns," Logan grunted noncommittally.

"I told you to shave 'em." Marie piped up again. "And how old are you?" she asked Remy.

"Almost 19, petite." He grinned at her. Charm practically oozed out of his pores. Next to me, Jean rolled her eyes. We had both seen Remy in action before.

"Where are you from, sugar? Is that a Cajun accent?" Marie's interest piqued.

"Qui. My family is from the Bayou of Louisiana. Where are you from?"

"Somewhere in the South. Or at least, my first foster parents were from there. The accent just kinda stuck." Marie explained. "Logan's Canadian," she said suddenly. "Where are you from Mrs. Munroe? You have an accent too?"

My mother looked amused, but explained the circumstances of her origins.

"It's a little United Nations at this table," my dad chuckled. Logan laughed too. I enjoyed the sound.

The rest of the evening passed for me in a haze. I was aware of the fact that Logan had successfully charmed my parents and even Jean smiled at a few of his jokes. When it was time to clear the dishes, she pulled me into the kitchen.

"I can see why you like him. That man is sex on a stick." I shushed her hurriedly.

"That's not the reason I like him," well, not the _only_ reason.

"Remy and that girl seem to be hitting it off." Jean observed. "He better watch out. I'm willing to bet Logan is the protective kind of big brother." Jean adjusted her cleavage inside her jacket.

"I'll warn him," I could hear everyone else moving to the living room.

"So, are you going to make a move?" she asked.

"Maybe," I dumped the dishes in the sink.

"Maybe?" Jean scoffed. "What was the point of us wasting an hour upstairs and all the stressing you did if you're not going to put the moves on him?"

"It would be inappropriate. He's my boss, and he's a lot older-"

Jean laughed. "That's the whole point of being 18. You're legal now."

"He's still my boss."

Jean shook her head. "Hell, if you don't want him, swing him my way. I know what to do with him."

"You do not." I laughed. "You're as innocent as I am. Besides, I thought you were saving yourself for Scott."

"I am. But Logan's gorgeous isn't he?" I had just finished nodding the affirmative when the kitchen door pushed open and Logan stepped in.

"Need help?" he asked me. His eyes glinted with mirth. I wondered how much he overheard.

"Nope. I'm good." I said too loudly. "We'll be right out." Logan nodded and left. Jean rolled her eyes again.

We moved to the living room to join the group. Logan again positioned himself next to me. His denim covered leg pressed against my bare thigh and I yearned to lean into him. Marie sat by Remy. I noticed the two of them giggling together and immediately picked up on Remy's charm. He was being subtle, but the way he leaned into her, or found excuses to brush his arm along hers gave him away. Remy was a ladies' man through and through, but I had never seen him flirt so blatantly in my parents' home. Logan raised a thick eyebrow at them.

"Thank you for the dinner," Logan and Marie collected themselves and stood at the door. My mother hugged them both and asked them not to be strangers, a form of high praise; a repeat invitation was never extended if she didn't mean it.

"We oughta get together for a girl's night," Marie gushed. "I don't know too many girls my age and I would love to hang out with ya'll."

"That's a great idea!" Jean said excitedly. "How about tonight?" she looked over at my parents. I knew what she was doing. Girl's night would turn into "go to the party and find Scott'' night if Jean had anything to do with it.

My parents exchanged eye contact, silently discussing whether I would be allowed to go. I felt embarrassed that Logan was watching.

"I don't see the harm," my dad announced finally.

"We can do it at my house," Jean offered.

"Can I go, Logan?" Marie bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Sure kid. Just behave yourself." She threw herself into his arms.

"Thank-you!"

"I'll give you all a ride over there," Remy stepped up.

I had a feeling I was going to get in a whole lot of trouble very soon.

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	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Here goes another chapter...**

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I began to have second thoughts around the time we piled into Remy's car for the party. It could have had something to do with the fact that I had just been released from punishment and I wasn't ready to earn more hard time. It might have been the fact that I realized that Marie was underage, that I didn't know her that well and that Remy and her were far too cozy. Then again, maybe the thought of what Logan would say when he found out we took the girl who was like his sister to a party was making me nervous. Either way, I started to protest. My protests were quickly shot down. It was just a regular party, Jean argued. Nothing to worry about. In fact, we could pick up Scott and be back at her house within the hour. Her parents were gone anyway, so Remy and Scott wouldn't be a problem. Her assurances did nothing to calm my nervous stomach.

I made it my personal mission to protect Marie. The girl insisted that we call her Rogue and seemed much wilder now than she had at dinner. I couldn't let her get out of control.

"Remy," I hissed in his ear as we all got out of the car, "What are you doing? She's only 17!"

"Relax, Stormy. I'm not an idiot. I won't do anything." He patted me on the back.

"I've heard that before. If you do anything to her, or with her—"

"Your man will kill me. I know. Nothing's going to happen." He grinned.

"Relax, Roro," Jean repeated. "Help me find Scott and we'll leave."

Rogue must have noticed my nervousness because she approached me.

"You know, Ororo, Logan won't mind me going to a party." She said. I looked skeptical. "I swear!"

"Marie, I just don't think it's a good idea. Logan said you could have girls' night, not this."

"He's not my father, not even when he tries to be." She waved me off. "C'mon, you could use the fun," this was true. My wild side was battling with my responsible side and the responsible side was losing.

"I don't know…" I hesitated.

"Rogue?" I thought I hallucinated Logan's voice, but when I turned around he was standing there. His arms were folded across his chest and he was staring down Marie.

"What are you doing here?" Marie and I both asked.

"Forge invited me. This is a buddy of his' house." He said to me. "What happened to girl time or whatever?"

"This _is_ girl time," Rogue was undaunted. "Jean is trying to lock down her man!" Jean had poured out the saga of her and Scott on the car ride to her house. Marie sympathized.

Logan snorted. "This crowd ain't for you, squirt. You're still in high school."

"Ororo was gonna watch out for me," she protested. Logan turned his grey eyes on me. I felt suddenly ashamed.

"Oh yeah?" his dark brow crept up.

"I didn't want to—" I started but Marie cut me off.

"We're all here already. Nothing's going to happen to me with you here. Let's just go in."

"Don't try and fool me. You're here to hang out with that Cajun."

"His name is Remy," I reminded Logan, none to gently.

"And I just want to talk to him, Logan! I'm not gonna drink, or anything like that. Just talk. I promise." Marie implored.

"I can't have any fun if I have to watch your back all night." Logan grumbled.

"I'm just talking. You can talk too! Talk to 'Roro, please?" she jutted out her bottom lip. Logan considered for a moment.

"Alright, but if Gumbo even looks at you in a way I don't like, it's him and me that's going to be talking. Got it?" Remy, who had wandered back out of the house and out behind us, spoke up.

"No problem." He shot Logan a smug grin and took Rogue's hand. Logan's scowl chased the young couple back into the house.

"Your boy works fast," he groused.

"So does your girl," I didn't want to fight about Remy. Especially with Logan.

He seemed to take my point. "Didn't take you for the partying type." He said.

"You don't know me that well." I started off towards the house.

"You're right about that darlin'." He reached out to hold the door for me. I followed him inside.

The party was insane. It wasn't even ten yet, but there were people packed all over. The house was filled to capacity with my old classmates. I hadn't seen most of them since graduation. Remy was already talking animatedly with a few people across the room. I immediately spotted my friend Bobby Drake. His blonde head bobbed over to us.

"Roro!" he hugged me tight. I had missed him too. "Glad to see you out, girl."

"Good to see you too!" My uneasiness from earlier was ebbing away.

"You gotta play one game of beer pong with me. No one can beat us. I need my partner back!" he seemed to notice for the first time that Logan was with Jean and I. He looked in his direction and he and Logan did some sort of male ritual involving head nods.

"I'll leave you to it," Logan shot Marie a warning sort of look and headed off towards some burly guy in the corner.

"Only if you drink for me." I told Bobby, ignoring the fact that Logan seemed to be brushing me off.

"I'm going to find Scott." Jean informed me as I set up the customary red cups. I nodded at her.

"I'll stay with Ororo," Rogue said. "I'll be your cheering squad." Bobby eyed her with interest.

"She's taken." I informed him. Better Remy than Bobby. He shrugged.

"They always are," he slapped a ping pong ball in my hand. "Let's do this."

I loosened up a little after we easily won the first round. Our opponents, Peitro and his sister, (who I knew by sight but not name) put up a good battle. Bobby insisted that he couldn't drink all the cups two games in a row, so I choked down a few. Remy had come back from chatting with some of his old friends and stood by Rogue watching the game. Logan strode up.

"Beer pong, darling?" he shoved his hands in his pockets to watch me. My competitive side came out. I wanted to impress Logan. I focused and knocked down the last cup, winning the game. Bobby gave a roar of excitement and clasped me on the back.

"Yeah Roro!" he slapped my hand. I smiled back.

"Nice shot." Logan leaned in to whisper in my ear. "For a pretty girl, you're full of surprises."

"You have no idea," I grinned wickedly at him. Bobby gave me a knowing look and waggled his eyebrows. I ignored him, my eyes on the prize. Jean wasn't the only one who was going to nail down her man tonight.

"How much have you had to drink?" he coaxed the red cup out of my hand. "You're more giggly than usual. I think you should sit down."

"Only if you sit down with me," I said.

"Alright, darlin'." He steered me towards the couch. He sat down first, pulling my body firmly to the cushions. I flopped into him as the world temporarily spun and pressed my cheek to the smooth dark cotton of his shirt.

"You smell nice," I breathed into him.

"Don't think you'd be getting this close to me if you were sober, 'Ro," he pushed a lock of lavender out of my eyes.

"Ro?" I sat up to look at him.

"Well, I can't cuddle with a Roy, can I?" he smirked at me. I laughed.

"I like it," I told him and sat up slightly.

"Glad to hear it," he leaned into the couch and adjusted his arm around my shoulders.

"I like you," the small amount of alcohol in my system fueled my reckless nature.

"Yeah?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah," I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. They felt wonderful, firm and warm.

"Ro," he rumbled against my mouth. He pulled back.

"You don't want to kiss me?" I asked, horrified and embarrassed.

"Ro—" he jammed a hand in his pitch black hair, as though distressed. "If you want to kiss me come Monday morning, we'll talk about it, but we can't…I can't take advantage of you." He pinned me down with his cobalt stare.

I felt my eyes begin to itch and Logan's face blurred. I nodded, choking down the lump in my throat and stood up quickly. I needed to find Jean. I spun on my heel, and practically ran.

She wasn't downstairs or in the backyard. Worried and desperate for my best friend, I hurried upstairs to check bedrooms. When I found her, I immediately wished I hadn't. She had made her move on Scott alright. And Scott seemed to be moving his hands around under her shirt. They were pressed against each other on the bed and making out like I had never seen before. I reflected that they'd been dancing around each other for a year and a half, and it made perfect sense that they would get together like this. Jean was smart enough not to go too far. I was about to shut the door and head downstairs when the unthinkable happened. Emma Frost burst in behind me.

"What the hell!" she screeched and threw her drink to the carpeted floor. Jean and Scott bolted apart.

"Get out of here, Emma!" Scott yelled at her. His sunglasses were off and sat crookedly on the top of his head. Jean tried to straighten her top inconspicuously. Emma powered past me and launched herself across the room, heading straight for my unsuspecting best friend. I met her half way with a punch that knocked her flat. I was angry, embarrassed and heartbroken and I was about to take it all out on Emma.

Too bad he got in my way.

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	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! You guys really do make it easy to continue writing!**

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Emma Frost didn't stay down for long. After her shock at being hit by my fist wore off, she was up off the floor and lunging, this time for me. I was ready for her. She came at me with the typical girl fight technique: nails out. I feinted right and shouldered her, knocking her back a few feet. By this time, Scott was off of the bed and trying to get between us. Jean was looking like a dear in the headlights. When it became clear to Emma that I wasn't the girl to get in a fight with, she redirected her anger to her initial target. Jean gave a girlish shriek that made me vow to take her kickboxing in the near future. I acted quickly, putting myself between them again.

Then the cursing began.

I've never heard so many variations of the f word and the word bitch used in one breath before. Jean was cussing too, yelling from behind me. And Emma turned to me and used my absolutely least favorite word in the world: the c word. From that point on, I started to use some choice words of my own, and Scott was roaring for us to shut the f—up. Emma reached for my hair but I grabbed her first and yanked her to the carpet. She had a grip on the strap of my dress and we both went down, the fabric of my straps tearing. There was thundering out in the hall and the shouts of "girl fight! Hot girl fight!" People were running up to watch and the doorway was crowded. I shoved Emma's face into the floor and she scratched at me. Then out of nowhere she swung up with her head and cracked me in the eye. And shit, it really hurt.

Arms were around my waist in an instant, Remy had somehow forced his way into the room and he and Scott had successfully detached my from Emma's stringy hair. I looked up through my swelling eye and noticed that Forge was there; he pulled Emma up from the floor by the waist. She sobbed into his shoulder and he rubbed her back soothingly, all the while glaring at me.

"I could press charges, bitch!" Emma took the time to look up and spit the threat at me.

"I'd like to see you try!" I snarled back.

"She could." Forge said calmly. I felt suddenly sick that I had ever found him attractive. It became very clear to me, as he patted Emma on the back and held her tight, for whom she had broken it off with Scott.

"Do it and see how quickly I tell the police how much you've had to drink tonight," I growled. I was completely sober now; the miniscule amount of beer had worked its way out.

"Roro," Remy tried hard not to laugh. "Let it go, petite."

My chest heaved and I longed to give Emma a black eye that would make mine look like smoky eyeliner, but I nodded. Remy and Scott slowly let me go. In the doorway I could see the excited faces of the people I knew. Bobby looked like Christmas had come early, Rogue looked torn between excitement and fear, a few guys looked varied degrees of turned on. I saw Logan standing in the back. I caught his eye and he looked back at me, expressionless.

"We better leave," Jean's frantic voice tore me back to the reality of what I had just done. My dress was torn, my hair looked like I had suffered an electric shock and I had just kicked the shit out of a girl I had never felt particularly strongly for, one way or the other. That was over now. I shouldered past her and Forge, trying to maintain any dignity I still had left. Emma flinched as I passed her and I felt satisfied.

Getting out of the house was difficult. People were high-fiving me left and right, asking what had happened, glaring. I brushed them all off, stomped outside and poured myself into Remy's car. I vaguely heard Remy say goodbye to Marie, and Scott tell Jean that they would talk tomorrow. My two best friends piled in around me. Without a word, Remy drove us both to Jean's house. I was grateful for the silence. My head was pounding from too much emotion.

It was still pounding when I woke up the next day, my cheek pressed to the cool pillows on the futon in Jean's bedroom. I groaned and rolled over, glancing across the room. Jean was up already, still in her pajamas but sitting cross-legged on the center of her bed. My dress was in her lap. She was sewing the straps back together.

"You don't have to do that," I muttered to her, in lieu of good morning.

She looked up at me and smiled. "You kicked Emma's ass for me last night. It's the least I could do." She regarded me as I sat up and rubbed my head. "This, and take you to the store for cover-up and aspirin."

I stumbled to her bathroom to look in the mirror. Oh crap. My left eye was puffy and had a purplish bruise circling it. I had seen worse, but it was still unattractive. I carefully washed my face and brushed my teeth, then pulled my hair back into a sensible ponytail. Satisfied that I no longer looked like the walking dead, I walked back into Jean's bedroom.

"I was an idiot last night," I announced. She shrugged.

"So was I. Now get dressed. We're going to go shopping and forget all about it." Jean said and hopped down onto the floor. This is why I loved her; she never made things awkward. When the rubber hit the road, she had my back and I had hers.

We stood in Sephora an hour later, testing concealer shades on the back of my hand. I brushed on a cinnamon brown, trying to determine whether it matched my skin or not.

"So, you and Scott, huh?" I picked up another container. "How'd that happen?"

"He found me, actually" Jean could not conceal her grin. "Almost the minute I went to look for him. He just came up to me and told me…" she broke off, beaming.

"Typical," I laughed a little. "He told you it was always you he wanted?"

"Something like that, yeah." Jean's happiness radiated off of her.

"I'm happy for you," I told her honestly. I rubbed cream over my tender skin.

"How about you and the mechanic?" she asked, experimenting with some lip gloss.

I hesitated. To be honest, I was unsure of what to tell her. What had happened between Logan and I? He had rejected my kiss, true, but his intentions, in hindsight, seemed honorable. I relayed the story of last night, careful to keep my tone indifferent.

"So he stopped kissing you because he didn't want to take advantage of you?" Jean asked, incredulously, and then scoffed.

"What?" I didn't understand her reaction.

"I guess it's sweet and all, but I don't know what kind of living, breathing straight man would turn down making out with you." I flushed a little at her praise. "He must really like you." She concluded.

My heart rattled against my ribs. "How do you figure?" I asked.

"Well, if he was thinking in the long term, instead of say, the short term goal of having his tongue down your throat, it means he cares enough about you to respect you." I silently processed that information. "Scott told me that's why it took him so long to make a move. He didn't want me to be just a hookup." Jean blushed as red as her hair.

"Well, I'll find out Monday." I was eager to move the subject along. I insisted that we peruse the rest of the mall for supplies for the dorm room we were to be sharing in a few weeks time. The thought of school calmed me considerably. After all, even if something did progress between Logan and I, I would be leaving soon and he wouldn't. NYU wasn't that far, just a few hours away, but Logan didn't strike me as a long-distance relationship guy.

For whatever reason, that thought depressed me. I was quiet for the remainder of the weekend. If my parents suspected anything, they didn't voice their concerns. I kept myself busy, alternating between planning for college and spending my newfound hours of freedom listening to Jean talk about Scott or Remy subtly ask me to find out more about Marie (who he called Rogue) from Logan. Neither of them brought up the subject of Logan and I. I assumed Jean had filled Remy in and they were tip toeing on egg shells about it.

Monday morning, I woke up filled with dread. I would have to look Logan in the eye today, and not burst into tears, demand an explanation, or worse, kiss him again. I decided that ignoring him was the best course of action. Let him decide to approach me.

I repeated the plan to myself as I got off the bus, ignoring the familiar but creepy older man who had become a staple of my daily trips. I pushed my way inside the door, concentrating on my breathing and hoping Logan would be in the office, busy. No such luck.

He was leaning on the counter, already covered in oil and grease. He looked up at me, like he'd been waiting for me.

"Hey, 'Ro," he greeted easily. "I've got a surprise for you."

I had not expected that.

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	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the slight delay! Here goes another chapter! Thanks again for all of your wonderful feedback. :)**

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"A surprise?" I nearly stuttered.

"Well, kinda…" Logan amended. He gestured with a head nod. "Come out back."

I followed him, trying to calm myself enough to seem as unaffected as he was. He led me out towards my car. The dents were gone, a product of my own hard work, but the engine that had previously laid on the ground was nowhere to be found.

"I fixed it this weekend." Logan seemed to read my mind. "It's as good as new." He swung open the hood of my car. The engine was there gleaming, pristine and flawless.

"I figured you could just paint it, and you'll be done. Your car will be fixed." He said.

I stood there silently, aware that now was the opportune moment to say something nice, or at very least, extend my thanks. My only thoughts were that now that the car was finished, I no longer needed to work at the garage. I would no longer see Logan. And he had worked this weekend to ensure this.

"I was supposed to fix it myself," I told him quietly.

"To be honest, darling, you weren't going to be able to fix an engine after a month of hangin' around a garage. So I did it for you." He started to elaborate, telling me what exactly had been needed to raise my car from the dead. I listened numbly, on the verge of embarrassing tears.

"Somethin' wrong, 'Ro?" he seemed at length to notice my despair.

"Why did you fix it?" I said, my voice cracking.

"What?" he seemed bewildered by my lack of gratitude. "I thought you'd be happy. Your car is fixed!"

"Yes, but now—" I broke off, unable to tell him what was bothering me about this.

"Is this about the party?" he asked bluntly. His tone, hard and uncaring, flared up my anger.

"You mean me kissing you?" I challenged.

"Yeah. I figured you'd be less mad after you sobered up. Or at least, after you beat the shit out of that blondie." He gestured to my makeup disguised black eye.

"I wasn't drunk." I reiterated. "I wasn't even tipsy. Or at least that tipsy." I amended.

"So you just got bold like that on your own?" he asked.

"I _am _bold." I told him.

"Really? You're pretty shy around here, darlin'." He said skeptically.

"Yeah, well, I've got a crush on my boss. I try to keep it in check." My honestly shocked him. I plowed ahead. "You said it yourself, I beat the crap out of a girl in front of a ton of people. In school, I was known for blunt statements. My best friends are outgoing people. Sure I'm polite, but—" I broke off, unsure of the look on his face. He was grinning at me, looking flat out amused.

"You're a piece of work, 'Ro," he said, running his fingers gently over my bruised eye. Without further ado, he kissed me. Really kissed me. I felt my knees give way, and my back hit the side of my car. His arms caught me, and without moving his lips from mine, he lowered us to the ground. And oh my gosh, his hands were warm and tracing their way over my jumper and his mouth was warm and wet and wonderful. I responded, burying my fingers in his dark as pitch hair, giving as good as I got.

We kissed. We kissed a lot. We kissed on the ground of a garage, hidden behind my nearly fixed car, sitting on the floor next to wrenches and screws and containers of Pennzoil. We kissed until my legs went numb from being folded under me and I pulled back to stretch. Logan looked up at the clock and realized that the others would be here in a few minutes. He helped me up, planted one more chaste peck on my lips, and went to open up.

This kiss haunted me all day. I didn't care that Forge was top toeing around me all awkwardly, like I might hit him next. I didn't care that Victor was roaring with laughter when I told him how I got a black eye. I worked through the rest of my day giddily, high on Logan's lips. He sent me a conspirator's smile when Victor began to tease Forge about his new girlfriend getting whooped by me, but otherwise we didn't talk. This was good, considering the fact that I wasn't sure I could control myself around him.

Victor and Forge left at closing, just like always. I took my time getting ready to catch the bus. Logan finally approached me.

"Need a ride?" he asked me. I nodded.

He helped me into his truck, giving me a boost so I could haul myself into it. I settled into his seat, feeling suddenly nervous at being alone with him again. He slid into the driver's seat and looked over at me.

"You better stop looking at me like that darlin', or I'm going to have a real hard time taking you home to your parents." He bit his lip and I blushed. I was frankly, tempted to tell him he could do whatever he wanted, but I retained some sense of morals.

"You know," I told him as we pulled out, "I don't just kiss anyone."

"No?" he turned to look at me.

"No." I confirmed.

"So what's that mean?" Logan growled playfully.

"It means you have to take me on a date." I said. He laughed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." I rose my eyebrows at him, imitating the gesture he always made.

"Alright then." He agreed. I felt my heart jump. "What do you like to do? Dinner and a movie?" I made a face akin to eating sour fruit.

"Boring." I said.

"Alright, darlin'. Something more dangerous?"

"I'm sure you can think of something." I challenged him.

"Damn straight I can. How about we go on this date Wednesday?" he asked.

"Okay." I wished I could think of something more clever, but I was practically melting into the seat as it was. If he kept looking at me with those dark eyes, I was going to explode into dust.

"Then Wednesday it is. Tell your parents." He told me, coming to a stop in front of my house. My parents' cars were absent from the driveway. "and wear something comfortable. Like jeans." He said.

"I will." I told him. I unbuckled my seat belt and started to unlock the door. He turned off the ignition and grasped my arm before I could register he had even moved. His lips were on mine again, urgently plundering my mouth.

"Good night, 'Ro," he told me a moment later as I shakily got out of the car.

"See you tomorrow," I managed to squeak out. I turned and made my way into my house, determined not look back at him. I heard his truck start and roll down the street as I shut the front door behind me. I exhaled.

I needed to call Jean ASAP.

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	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! School and all that...Anyhow, review please!**

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"You are going where? With whom?" my mother grilled me early Wednesday morning. I had purposefully held off on telling them about my date until the last minute, for fear of their reaction.

"A date. With Logan." I repeated again.

"Logan from the garage?" my dad asked. He had set his laptop and camera down to give this issue his full attention.

"Yes," I didn't elaborate. My parents were giving each other weary looks.

"Isn't he your boss?" my dad asked.

"Not technically." I squeaked out. "I mean, he's the one who supervises when Mr. Stryker is gone."

"And he is how old?" my mother joined my father on the couch.

"20." I said.

My parents stared at me for a full minute before speaking again.

"Where is he taking you?" asked my mom.

"I don't know. He said it's a surprise." My father narrowed his eyes.

"A surprise?" he asked. I nodded.

"N'Dare, could you give us a moment?" my dad asked my mom. She nodded and then swept out of the room silently. My dad patted the space on the couch next to him. I sat wearily.

"So, you like Logan," it was less of a question and more a statement of fact. I swallowed and nodded. "And he is a good person? A good man?"

"He treats me well." I couldn't quite meet my father's eyes. We had talks of this nature in the past, whenever I liked a boy, or went to the movies with one, but they were never comfortable.

My dad nodded. "You've never dated someone older than you. He is a grown man."

"I know," I said quietly.

"I forget that you are nearly an adult yourself." My dad sighed, "If he is good to you, and since we've already met him and he was nothing but polite, I suppose there is no harm in you going on a date with him." I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"But," my father continued, perhaps sensing my relief, "he will come speak to me before you leave tonight. And you will be honest with us if anything progresses past simply dating." My cheeks flushed and I quickly shifted my gaze to the floor.

"Dad, I won't—I mean, we won't…" this was mortifying. "I'm not going to—"

"Not that," my father's eyes widened. "I mean, _please_ use discretion in that area. You're too young for…" he cleared his throat while I wished I could dissolve into the floor. "It's simply that you are leaving very soon," his composure regained, he continued, "and I know how sensitive you are. So if this is not something that will last, or he is not who you think he is…" my dad broke off again. "What I am saying is that if you don't see a future, perhaps it is better to end it before you are too emotionally invested."

I thought about what he said for a moment. "I'll keep that in mind dad." My father looked relieved. He leaned in to hug me and I breathed in the scent of his cologne.

"You had better call this young man to let him know he will be meeting me again," my dad tried to pull off a stern look and I succumbed to giggles. He smiled at me.

"I'll go do that," I agreed.

A short time later, I saw on my bed, acutely aware of the fact that this would be the first time I was going to talk to Logan on the phone. I dialed in the novel number, and took slow, deep breaths as the phone rang beneath my ear.

"Hey, you've reached James Howlett…" I rechecked the number upon hearing this message. James? I listened closer, deciding that it was indeed Logan that was talking. I didn't know that his name was James. I vowed to ask him about it later. Disappointed and simultaneously relieved that I got his answering machine, I decided that I would just talk to him at work. I stood up to get ready. While I was rummaging through my closest, my phone began to vibrate from my bed. I reached it just in time.

"Hey 'Ro," Logan's voice greeted. "Sorry I missed your call."

"No problem James." I said, pulling on my jeans.

"Shit, I forgot you didn't know that was my name. Logan's my middle name. Sorry." I muttered that it was no problem. "Look, I figured I'd swing by and pick you up for work this morning. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, it's perfect actually." I shrugged the pants up my hips. "My dad, he wants to talk to you."

Logan swore mildly. "Am I in trouble with your old man already?" he asked good naturedly.

"No. He just wants to do the dad thing. Sorry." I said.

"No problem. Look, just get your stuff together for the date tonight. We're going to go right after work." He said. I felt myself begin to panic. I needed to prepare for a date. Primping took a long time and Jean was going to come over and…

"You there, darlin'?" Logan asked.

"Yes, just thinking."

"Listen. Don't panic or whatever girly thing. Just grab some jeans and a t-shirt. I already know what you look like so there's no need to cover your face in makeup. You're gorgeous anyway." I flushed, thankful he couldn't see me.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "Where are we going tonight?"

"That's for me to worry about," he said lightly. "It ain't going to be the typical wine and roses date, but I figured we can do that later. I got a feeling you're going to have fun tonight." My pulse picked up at his words.

"Alright," I agreed.

"I'll be at your house in a half hour." He said before hanging up.

I ran downstairs to inform my parents of his arrival, then hauled back up to call Jean while I ransacked my closet for my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a decent top.

"You're not even going to dinner?" Jean asked through the phone, positively scandalized.

"I don't know where we're going," I told her for the umpteenth time.

"You'd think, with all the money he makes, he could take you somewhere nice." Jean snorted.

"You're not helping, Jean! He offered to take me to dinner and a movie and I said I wanted something different. I told you that. Now tell me which top you think I should wear." Jean sighed, but helped.

"Wear the dark purple one with the zipper that runs down the back. Trust me, it leaves just enough to the imagination," I located it in my closet and held it up. It was a nice shirt, with a decent neckline that showed just "enough" as Jean had put it. I thanked her, hung up, packed my date outfit into a bag and walked downstairs just in time to answer the door for Logan.

He was in his standard white t-shirt and jeans, his under the jumpsuit "uniform". I greeted him.

"Let me go talk to your dad," he told me, "then we'll go." I nodded nervously. My parents had already come down. My father shook Logan's hand seriously and invited him into the living room. I was left standing in the foyer with my mother.

"He seems to be a nice man," she said simply. "Let us hope he does not prove me wrong." She smiled at me. I could think of nothing to say in response. Ten minutes later, Logan wandered out of the living room. He shook my father's hand again, wished my parents a good day and smiled at me.

"So, what happened?" I ventured while we pulled out in his truck.

"Your dad's a nice guy." Logan said simply.

"And?" I goaded.

"And he loves you." Logan shrugged. I stared at him, but he didn't break.

"That's all he said?" I asked skeptically.

"That, and some other things. And to have you back by midnight." Logan grinned at me. "Don't worry about it 'Ro."

I leaned back in my seat and tried not to think about it. "Alright."

The work day went impossibly slowly. I spent most of it at the front counter, taking money and writing receipts for tire rotations and oil changes and trying not to watch the clock. The little silver hands on the clock on the wall moved as if they were rusted, every minute stretching an hour. Victor and Forge were apparently not clued into Logan and I's plans for tonight. Victor hit on me as shamelessly as ever and Forge ventured in to apologize for his girlfriend's behavior.

"She, uh, she's a little mean-spirited sometimes." He said.

I managed to not burst out laughing at the understatement. "Maybe you'll mellow her out." I told him. I wasn't too fussed about Emma. She had freed the way for Jean and Scott, and Logan and I were going on a date. Emma's high school drama seemed petty and miles away.

"I saw you and Logan. At the party." Forge hinted. I eyed him sharply.

"Did you?" I said airily.

"I didn't think he was your type." He said. I detected the hint of jealously.

"Well, he didn't seem to be at first. But then again, first impressions aren't always completely accurate, are they?" I asked pointedly. Forge shrugged, then made an excuse to leave the room. I began to sense that Forge may have been the insecure type, or at very least, a type who was not used to girls not liking him. I laughed to myself at the counter.

6 o'clock came and went, and I was not sad to see the backs of Creed and Forge as they rolled out of the door.

"You ready, darlin'?" Logan asked.

Was I ever.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I wanted to make this one good. :)**

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It was the second time in a summer that I was standing in the midst of mist raining down on me, though I was infinitely more pleased this time around. My hair was plastered in waves around my head, completely destroying my coif, and my makeup was pretty much gone now from the moisture, but I didn't care. I was leaning against the railing of the Maid of the Mist, my blue poncho sticking to my arms and damp jeans. My tennis shoes were soaked all the way through and it was hard to stand steady on the rocking boat. But Logan was there, one arm draped casually around my waist like it was meant to be there.

The rush of the water at Niagara Falls was nearly deafening. I had to shout to be heard, but that made Logan only lean in closer. It was gorgeous. I'd never seen such a stunning combination of cerulean and green, never sailed through a rainbow, never been so happy that I looked a complete, wet mess. The boat took us closer to the falls and the mist increased, prompting delighted screams from the passengers. I tipped my head back and relished the caress of water on my skin. Logan's dark hair had fallen from its unusual wolf peak shape and was lying flat down on his head in wet sections. His sideburns were dripping water, and being taller than me, his poncho left far more of his lower half exposed to the elements. But he too was smiling. I leaned into him as the boat rocked slightly, content for an excuse for him to wrap his arms tighter around me.

The boat ride was over entirely too quickly for my liking, but I followed Logan down the ramp, listening to our wet shoes squeak and spill water with every step. We traipsed back outside and to the parking lot, shrugging out of our ponchos and raving about the ride along the way. Logan paused to shake his hair out, spraying water everywhere within two feet and looking comically like a puppy. He flashed me a lopsided grin while I giggled at his antics.

"You're soaking wet," he informed me.

"So are you," I laughed as I folded both of our ponchos into my purse.

"Let's go somewhere to dry off." He said.

We piled into his truck again, windows down to air out our hair, and drove a short distance.

"We have to hurry," Logan told me, "It will be closing soon."

He grabbed my hand and we made a dash for a small building up ahead. As we hauled past it I had time to glance at the sign. Logan was leading me into a butterfly conservatory. He paid up front and then we walked through the building and outside. I stood shocked as more butterflies than I had ever known existed fluttered around a tropical landscape. We dried off as we walked, me squealing girlishly every few moments and demanding pictures be taken with the little disposable cameras we had bought before we boarded the Maid of the Mist. One camera was already full from the boat ride, but I whipped another one out and managed to get a picture of Logan looking grumpy as a few butterflies landed unceremoniously in his hair. He made me vow not to show anyone, for fear of his tough guy image. I promised, but kept my fingers crossed behind my back. We stayed in the conservatory for an hour, before an employee all but chased us out at closing. By the time we reached his truck again, the sun had already begun to set and we were starving.

"Hungry?" Logan asked me as my stomach growled audibly. I nodded. "We can eat somewhere in the park, or I can take you to this place I know of on the Canadian side."

"Let's go to the place you know," I said without hesitation.

We didn't have much trouble getting across the border, since Logan was Canadian. We drove down some little roads while I took in the scenery, making mental notes of everything so I could rub it in Jean's face when I got back. This topped any first date she had ever told me about. I told Logan so. He grinned at me.

"I was hoping for that, darlin'." He told me as he parked the car at what looked like a bar. He reached in the back seat of his truck for a black cowboy hat. He popped it over his mussed hair while I quickly finger combed my short white locks. I snuck a peak at him as he jumped out of the truck, his jeans molded to the muscles of his legs, looking delectable in his flannel shirt. A conversation I had with Jean a year or so back, about how I never really thought the cowboy look was attractive, popped into my head. I supposed I would have to eat my words now.

"Can we go in here?" I asked Logan as it became apparent that he had brought me to a bar.

"I can," he grasped my hand and leaned in, "They won't check for ID, but when they ask your age, tell them 19. That's the legal age in Ontario," he said, smiling.

A few minutes later, I slid into a booth seat, feeling mischievous after lying to the bouncer up front. Logan winked at me as I sat, then slid across. A mixture of country music and old rock was spilling out of an age juke box in the corner. The restaurant was made mostly of wood, with a bar running the length of the north side and booths and tables along the south. A hodgepodge of pool tables and dart boards occupied most of the middle, bordering a small dance floor. I glanced at the menu and decided on a burger and steak fries. Logan got the same, but with a beer. He refused to let me order one as well, telling me that it was bad enough that he had me in a different country and that my dad would kill him if he gave me alcohol on top of that.

"So how do you know this place?" I asked as we dug into the food.

"I used to come here, when I was younger and snuck out to see my friends." He said nonchalantly. "Bill never cares when I come back up to Canada, but some of my other foster parents didn't like it." He shrugged and took a huge bite of burger.

"If you don't mind me asking," I started tentatively. "How—"

"-Did I get in foster care?" he finished and swallowed his food. "I grew up mainly with my mom when I was a kid. We used to wander around a lot towards the end, but I was happy enough. We moved to New York when I was 14. I was still there when she died." I picked at my fries, processing that information.

"Do you come to Canada a lot?" I asked.

"Every once in a while. I box up here, when I'm bored or need money. But I've never brought anyone with me before, except Rogue once." He said.

"Well, I'm glad you brought me." I told him.

The rest of dinner passed pleasantly. I found out that while his legal name was James, he went by Logan since he thought James was too formal. He told me he had always been good with mechanics and that he spoke Spanish and some French and Japanese that he picked up from Bill. He had never been to school due to monetary issues, but he had saved up enough. He took martial arts when he was younger and sometimes bare-knuckle boxed when he needed extra cash. I told him that I had claustrophobia from an childhood incident, that I had only been to Africa to see my mother's family twice, that I was a natural green thumb, that my favorite food was a burger and fries and that I too spoke a little French that I had picked up from Remy.

We played a few rounds of pool. Or at least Logan attempted to teach me the game, while I just danced nervously around the table. After a half hour I had managed to sink one ball, and I called it a success. We went back to the table for dessert. Logan slid into the seat right next to me this time, in order to "hear me better" when we talked. I didn't complain.

Around ten, Logan herded me back into his truck, claiming he didn't want to face my parents' wrath if he brought me home late. I snuggled back into the seat, filled with food and tired from a long day. We drove home in comfortable silence, broken only by the low sound of the radio and the occasional conversation. At ten until midnight Logan pulled up in front of my parents' house. He walked me to the door.

"I had a great time," I informed him. "I can't wait to get the pictures developed. I've never been to Niagara before."

"I'm glad," he said. "But next time, we'll go somewhere closer so we can take my bike." He grinned. The mental image of Logan on a motorcycle nearly undid me. I nodded.

"I'll see you Friday?" I had tomorrow off, in order to recover, as Bill had put it when he had found out Logan was taking me out.

He nodded. "Good night, 'Ro," he took the cowboy hat off of his head and placed it over mine, then leaned forward and wrapped me in a toe curling kiss. I stumbled into my house a moment later.

"How was your date?" my mother questioned from her place on the couch.

I just smiled.

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**Review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than the rest, but I figured it was best to capitalize on the creative juice pumping through my brain at the moment. To all of my reviewers, thank you all so much! You really are too kind for words.**

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"Merde!" Remy repeated for the third time. "He set the bar high, non?"

I was lounging on the couch in Jean's living room, watching Remy play Call of Duty on the Grey's flat screen with Scott. Jean and I were situated above them on the couch, combing through pictures of my date.

"So he took you to another country?" Jean asked.

"You say that like he flew her to Europe or something. It was just Canada" Scott voiced his opinion from the floor, then cursed as Remy shot his character in the game.

"Still Scott. You have to admit, that's impressive." Scott rolled his eyes behind his red glasses.

"I take you nice places." He argued. "And you don't even like nature."

"Niagara Falls isn't nature," Jean countered.

Scott snorted. "A waterfall isn't nature?"

Remy and I exchanged knowing, semi-annoyed glances. I quickly moved to change the subject.

"The point is that he put a lot of thought into. It meant a lot." I paused at a self portrait style picture I had taken of Logan and I with the falls behind us. Jean glanced over at it.

"Jeez, you guys already look like an old couple." She said.

Scott leaned over to look. "So are you dating now?"

"Obviously," I was a little miffed that Scott was so in my business, but he was Jean's boyfriend now so I played nice.

"I mean, boyfriend and girlfriend. Is it official?" he asked.

I was about to tell him that it was none of his business, but Jean and Remy were looking at me with interest as well.

"I don't know." I said truthfully. "I haven't asked."

"Why not?" Jean pressed. "You've gone out like three times already. He obviously likes you. And you like him."

"Jean, it's not that important, honestly." I sighed and took a drink of my Sprite.

"How is that not important?" she argued. "Don't you want to know where the two of you stand?"

"Especially since you are going away for school." Scott added.

Remy looked at me and must have detected something in my eyes because he said, "Leave 'Roro alone. She's having a good time. That's all that matters, qui?" he smiled at me and offered to go get us more popcorn from the kitchen. Jean let the subject slide.

"Did you know Remy asked Rogue out?" she burst the minute he left the room. Scott looked uncomfortable at the turn of conversation.

"Is that true, Rem?" I asked him as he wandered back into the living room, bowl in hand.

"Why you in my business, Stormy? And why did Scott tell Jeannie?" he teased. Scott mumbled an apology.

I playfully ruffled his hair. "So where are you taking her?" I asked.

"I was going to do dinner and movie, but seeing as her brother set the standard high, I'm going to have to come up with something else," Remy flopped down nonchalantly and restarted his game with Scott.

Jean and I offered playful suggestions, everything from roller skating to more ridiculous ideas. Scott interjected here and there, and I was pleased to see that Summers was actually a funny guy when Emma wasn't attached to his hip like a parasite. He eventually cozied up next to Jean on the couch. Within minutes, they were making out as if Remy and I weren't there. I shrugged and slid down on the floor next to my best friend to take Scott's place. Turns out I wasn't too bad at the game. I was gunning down enemies when my phone began to vibrate. I hauled it out of my purse and flipped it open.

"Who's that?" Remy questioned, taking advantage of the break to shoot my character and shove more popcorn into his mouth.

"Logan." My heart was already beginning to beat faster at the prospect of seeing him again.

"Qui? What's he want? Is he taking you on a date to the moon this time?" I shoved Remy lightly.

"He wants me to come over." I said. The reactions to this statement were instantaneous. Jean detached from Scott with a sound like a plunger from a blocked sink, Remy's jaw dropped open and even Scott looked interested.

"To his place?" Jean snatched the phone from my hand. "You and him alone?"

"I don't know," I said, irritated. "I haven't gotten a chance to ask him yet."

"Well, for God's sake, do it!" Jean shoved the phone back into my grasp impatiently, as if she hadn't taken it from me a moment ago. I texted Logan back and the room waited with baited breath for his reply.

"He says Rogue is there. But he was hoping we could hang out and maybe watch a movie." I read.

"Non!" Remy practically yelled. I looked at him like he was crazy, but Scott seemed to know where he was coming from.

"Watch a movie," Scott said slowly, as if he knew something I didn't.

"What's wrong with that?" I asked.

Remy and Scott exchanged glances. Remy nodded and Scott turned to me.

"It's against man code to tell you, but I think in the interest of you dating an older guy, you should know." I raised my eyebrows in amusement at their serious demeanor.

"Watching a movie is code for hooking up," Remy said. I burst out laughing. "Seriously!" he reiterated.

"Think about it," Scott said. "You're on the couch, his arm slinks around your shoulders a minute or two in. He pulls you closer, he kisses you on the cheek…."

"You'll be lucky if you see a half hour of that movie before his hands are up your shirt." Remy said confidently.

"Well," Jean said with evident disgust, "You two would know." I suddenly remembered that Jean and Scott had been staying in and watching movies a lot lately. I shot her a wide eyed glance. She blushed scarlet. I felt that now was not the time to broach the subject.

"I can handle myself." I told them. "And besides, Logan isn't like that."

"Oh Stormy," Remy sighed dramatically. "_All_ guys are like that."

"And he's older," Jean added. "He's probably used to— you know."

The problem was, I didn't know. I had kissed one boy before Logan, and it had been nothing serious at all. So far Logan hadn't been pushy. Then again, I hadn't been fighting off his skin melting kisses either. The panic must have been evident on my face because Remy again intervened.

"We'll go together. I can hang out with Rogue and you can see your man." he offered.

"And ask him if you guys are getting serious," Jean demanded.

"Alright," I agreed with Remy. "Jean, we'll leave you two here to watch movies." I lifted an accusatory eyebrow and this time both of them flushed bright red. Remy burst out laughing.

"C'mon, chere." He said and helped me up.

Logan and Rogue lived a few miles away, near the shop. Logan had told me that Bill was rarely ever home. Apparently, he had met a lady friend he much preferred spending time with. They lived in modest little brick house. The front yard was tastefully manicured, though the green thumb in me thought some rose bushes might brighten it up. We walked up the stone path and Remy rang the doorbell. I'd noticed he had popped mints in his mouth right as we got out of the car. I resisted the urge to laugh.

Logan opened the door. His smile turned to a scowl when he saw Remy.

"What are you doing here, Gumbo?" he growled.

Remy was nonplussed. "Came to see Rogue and to bring over your girlfriend. Seeing as her car still isn't finished." I quickly looked away. I had admittedly been putting off painting the car to spend more time with Logan. He hadn't complained; he grinned slightly at me before redirecting his attention back to Remy.

"Alright, she's upstairs," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, but it was unnecessary. Marie came charging down the steps, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Remy!" Logan stepped aside and watched as Rogue threw herself into Remy's arms. Sensing the approach of an oncoming storm, I grasped Logan's hand and pulled him inside.

"Are you going to give me a tour?" I asked him. He looked over his shoulder one more time at Remy and Rogue who were, thankfully, only talking.

"Sure, darlin'."

He led me around, briefly stopping to show me the living room and kitchen. It was clear to me that this was a household run by men; there were a few homey touches, but mostly just beer mugs and shoes thrown everywhere. I followed him upstairs where he pointed out the bathroom, Rogue's room and finally, his own.

"Want to look?" he pushed the door open. I stepped inside, acutely aware that I had never before been in a boy's bedroom, except Remy's. He had a queen sized bed with navy sheets shoved into one corner. A calendar and a few posters hung from the wall of girls in bikinis sitting on muscle cars. I rose a brow but said nothing. He had a desk, littered with car parts and an old record player sitting in one corner. Intrigued I walked to it and began thumbing through his music collection. It was mostly old Johnny Cash, but I was pleased to see some old R&B and even a Michael Jackson record among them.

"I've got a thing for old music," he explained as he watched me look on his treasures. I smiled at him.

"Can we play this one?" I held up the MJ record.

"Sure," he took it from me and went about setting it on the player. I was thoroughly engrossed in his actions before a sound at the door forced me to turn around.

"Remy and I will be downstairs," Rouge announced from her place in the hallway. Remy was giving me a knowing glance I didn't at all like. Logan turned around. He looked ready to protest before Rogue continued. "that way you and 'Roro can have some alone time. We won't bother you," the 'if you won't bother us' part went unspoken.

I watched Logan as he struggled with a decision. "Fine." He bit out at length. "Don't make me have to come down there." He warned.

"Don't make me have to come up here," Remy shot right back. Rogue and I watched uneasily as the two men stared each other down.

"Well, see you later!" Rogue said a little too brightly, and dragged Remy away. Logan watched them walk out and then shut his door.

"You can sit down if you want to, 'Ro," he gestured to his bed.

I felt suddenly dizzy. The bed was huge, looming, intimidating. I felt like it might suck me in. I stood near it, drowning in the color of the sheets and the music started. Logan came up and stood behind me.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah—I'm great!" I said loudly. Logan looked skeptical, but jumped up on his mattress and kicked his shoes off. He patted the space next to him and I lowered myself tentatively. My bottom brushed the sheets and I was surprised to find that I was still alive. I pressed myself completely onto the bed slowly. Logan looked on with amusement dancing in his eyes. I leaned back into the pillows and relaxed slightly. A few minutes went by as we listened to the music in silence. Logan's eyes were closed, his head was nodding to the beat and my panic had begun to subside. Somewhere in the middle of the third song, Logan reached for me and draped his arm over my shoulders. The panic returned, Scott's words ringing in my head. Was listening to music the same as watching movies? Did listening to records even count? What was the protocol here? Logan's arm had never before caused such distress.

"Ro, darlin', you seem tense." Logan observed, his eyes still closed.

"Do I?" I ground out. Logan's eyes flickered open.

"I ain't gonna bite you, 'Ro. Relax," he rubbed my shoulder. When my muscles refused to unstiffen, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss over my lips. I pulled back abruptly.

"What are you doing?" I asked, panicked.

"Kissing you," Logan's brows knitted together in confusion.

"Why?" I was trying to lean back, but my muscles wouldn't cooperate. Logan sat up, giving me a bewildered glance.

"What's this about, darlin'?" he asked.

"Are you my boyfriend?" I blurted.

"I figured I was working my way up to it, yeah" The amusement had returned to his face, but I wasn't through yet.

"Because I'm going to college in less than a month and I just wanted to know." I finished lamely.

"Well, to be honest 'Ro," my heart stopped and my face became painfully hot, "NYU isn't that far. And I should be going there in a semester or so anyway. I'm transferring from the city college." Whatever I had been expecting, this was not it. I couldn't find words, but Logan didn't seem to mind. "I figured things were going well. I'll come visit you this next semester on weekends. And we'll take it one step at a time," something seemed to click in his mind, and he looked down at me, smashed among the pillows on his bed. Then he began to laugh deep rolling chuckles that confused me.

"What?" I asked. "What are you laughing at?" I sat up too, but bumped into his chest and fell back down.

""Ro, we don't' have to do anything you don't want to. I was just going to kiss you, I swear." I felt ridiculous at being found out this way. Logan rolled over, still chuckling, and I had a second to process everything he had just said. He wanted to be with me, was planning on it. He was going to transfer to NYU…

I threw myself on top of him, covering his mouth with my own and swallowing the remnants of his laughter. He was still for a moment, but regained his bearings quickly. His arms encircled my body and I buried my hands in his hair, kissing him for all I was worth. After a moment he rolled me over and I felt his considerable but comfortable weight settle over me. I pulled him down, pausing only to take short, gasping breaths as he nipped at my lips. I was beginning to feel hot all over when the record player suddenly malfunctioned, causing the music to skip repeatedly. We both stopped to look at it, then each other. I promptly burst out laughing and Logan followed, chuckling as he pushed himself up and went to fix the music. When he returned, I straightened up and smiled at him. Something unspoken passed between us.

"C'mon darlin', let's go make sure the two downstairs aren't getting into trouble. They've been too quiet." I silently agreed, then took his hand.

Still laughing, we went to the living room and proceeded to watch a movie with the slightly disgruntled Remy and Rogue.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: To all of my reviewers and readers, thank you all! Much love. This is one of the last chapters...**

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"That's bullshit!" Logan argued from his place behind the driver's seat.

"That's cold, hard fact man," Scott leaned forward from the backseat to drive his point home.

"I'm with Logan on this one, homes," Remy said. "NASCAR isn't a real sport."

"You can't deny that it takes skill!" Scott sounded adamant.

"Sure, but it doesn't take any _physical_ skill. If you sit on your ass, it's not a sport." Logan turned around to glance back at Scott.

"My point exactly," Remy agreed.

"You guys don't know anything," Scott was dangerously approaching pouting. Remy began to laugh from his place on the other side of Rogue and Jean. The two girls were crushed in between their boyfriends in the middle seat.

"How come 'Roro gets shotgun?" Jean complained, adjusting in her cramped space.

"Because it's my car, and she's my girl," Logan said simply.

"Why do you have so many damn cars?" Remy asked.

"If you fixed them for a living, you might have a few too, sugar," Rogue leaned in closer to her boyfriend.

"I need to learn how to fix cars," Scott said as Jean's elbow accidently connected with his ribs.

"Just crash your car into a fire hydrant," Jean joked.

"Ha-ha," I said from the front seat as I stretched dramatically. Jean kicked the back of my chair.

We were packed into a little five seat car, on our way to the beach. It was a gorgeous Saturday out, one of the last we had left in the summer. It wasn't quite noon, but the sun was already high in the sky, beating down comfortably on us through the open windows. I could already smell the salty sea air and I knew we couldn't be far. I adjusted my sunglasses and stretched my legs, content to be with my closest friends.

When Logan threw us into a tiny parking space a few blocks from the already crowded beach, the occupants of the backseat practically burst out of the car.

"Thank God!" Rogue gasped. Jean agreed. Logan just rolled his eyes and popped the trunk. We all rushed forward to seize our bags. Remy grabbed Rogue's hand and the two of them took off toward the beach.

"Hold on shuge, my legs are still asleep!" Rogue's scream of protest floated backwards toward us. Logan grunted and shook his head.

"Admit it," I poked him in the arm, "You're starting to warm up to Remy." I said.

"Maybe. Don't tell Gumbo though," he threw his arm around me and smiled.

We followed our friends up the road and to the beach. It took some effort to pick through the crowd until we found an acceptable space not too far from the water. Jean immediately laid her towel down and spread out on it.

"Scott, can you put some sun tan lotion on my back?" she asked innocently, pulling her tank top over her head. She was wearing a dark green two piece. I could have sworn that Scott's eyes bugged out of his eyes behind his sunglasses. He practically dived for the bag and the lotion. Remy snickered.

"Rogue and I are going to walk around," he announced. Before Logan could protest, the two of them took off.

"Want to go swimming, darlin'?" Logan asked me. I was one step ahead of him, already standing there in my purple and gold trimmed boy short bikini and matching top.

Logan gave me an appreciative once over and a whistle. "Damn 'Ro, don't know if I can compete with that." I smiled at his praise until he reached for his own shirt. And damn if it didn't nearly knock me onto my ass. I wasn't the only one practically drooling. A few girls had completely stopped their Frisbee game to gawk. I didn't have the mental dexterity to form the words to tell them to buzz off. I was concentrating on trying to move my eyes back up to Logan's face and not linger on his chest, or lower. He had rock hard pecs dusted with a fine mat of black hair. His abs shot straight beyond a six pack and went all the way to eight, trailing down a delicious happy trail and the best V-shaped pelvis I had ever seen in my life.

"I think," I said at long last, "that you're competing just fine." Logan laughed.

"C'mon," he grabbed me, swept me up into his arms and ran with to the water. I squealed in delight, then surprise, as he dropped me into the chilly ocean. I hit the sand beneath the waves and kicked out, clipping Logan in the leg. He went down next to me, splashing hard. We both popped up sputtering. Within seconds a splash war had erupted. I chased him up and down the beach until my legs burned and my chest heaved. Spent, I collapsed in the shallow water. Jean, done with tanning for the moment, came and stood next to me.

"It's cold!" she exclaimed.

"It's not too bad once you get in," I scooped up a handful of water and sent it soaring at her torso. She squealed and flopped down next to me. Remy and Rogue were back and had run recklessly into the waves.

"I'm going to miss this," Jean sighed.

"We'll still be together at school," I said, watching Scott and Remy try to tackle Logan.

"You and I will be together. And Scott and Remy are going to be rooming together, but Logan and Rogue will be missing." She said.

I thought about that for a minute. I had been trying to ignore the fact that I would soon be leaving Logan here while I went off to school. "I'll miss them too. But they'll visit. And in a semester Logan will be here, and hopefully Rogue will be there next year."

"True," Jean agreed. "Still, are you going to be ok?"

I looked over at my friend. "I'll be counting on you to distract me," I said, half-jokingly. "So you're going to have to pry your lips off of Scott every once in a while for girl night."

"Of course," Jean shoved me sideways into the water.

We both got up and whooping ran back into the fray. It went like that for nearly an hour, splashing, bodysurfing, chasing the waves in and out, looking for shells. I snapped a few pictures from the dry safety of the sand while Jean took out her fancy underwater digital camera. It wasn't until the hunger pangs set in that I realized that I needed a break. We practically crawled out of the ocean and dragged our way up to our towels. I flopped down in the sun, loving the way the rays caressed and bronzed my skin.

"Here, 'Roro," the boys had wasted no time in getting into the picnic basket. Remy shoved a foil wrapped hamburger into my hand. I sat up eagerly, peeled back the foil and took a huge bite.

"Mmm," I sighed, cheese and ketchup dribbling down my chin to the sand. Even Jean, consumer of salads, had torn into a burger. We sat contentedly, chewing in silence. I leaned back into Logan's warm bulk as I polished off my last bite.

"I'm going to miss this, when the summer ends," he rumbled just loud enough for only my ears.

"Me too," I swallowed thickly. Logan rubbed my shoulders.

"It'll be ok." He said simply.

He leaned down and kissed me, willing me to realize that he was right.

I repeated his words in my head during my last day at the garage. I was trying to focus on Forge as he painted my car. It was the same shade of yellow as before, but now with sky blue swirls running down the sides like racing stripes. I loved it, but as Forge put on the finishing touches on it, I couldn't help but feel like the summer was ending as the paint dried. It appeared that Logan felt somewhat the same. He and Victor had gotten into a little bit of a scrap when Creed told him to stop moping around because I was leaving. Logan told him to mind his own damn business and it soon escalated to a near fist fight when Victor started cussing and Logan leapt over a car to get to him. Thankfully Bill had been there and barked out a military-esque warning that stopped anything before it happened. The men were still sore at each other though, and it was certain that one bad look or muttered insult would set them off again.

"It's done Ororo," Forge announced, peeling the bandanna from his face. I smiled at him, or at least tried to.

"Thanks Forge, it looks great." I said, trying again to muster an honest smile.

"You know," Forge looked at me hard, like he was working something out, "This is just a summer thing for me too. I'm leaving for school soon." He said.

"No way." I looked up at him. "Where for?"

"MIT," he said simply, tugging his gloves off. He flopped down next to me. "And Emma's staying here for the city college." I raised my brows at that. "I know what you think of her and I," he said, "but truth is, she's a lot nicer when she's not caught up in all the drama. And I like her. It's not perfect, but we're going to try to work something out." I digested the information.

"Good luck to you guys," I said sincerely.

"It's going to suck, but you know…" Forge looked me dead in the eye, "there's no point worrying about it. Some things work, some things don't. And life goes on and you live the way you're supposed to."

It was strange, sitting in the back of the garage, talking to a boy who's girlfriend I had publically beat, and receiving life lessons from him. Despite all of that, I felt immensely thankful for Forge.

"I'm going to miss you," I told him. He looked surprised. "Not your girlfriend," I amended, "but you're a good guy." He laughed.

"Take care of yourself out there, Ororo," his eyes flickered to something over my shoulder. I turned around to see Logan looking at us.

"Someone needs to work upfront," he told Forge pointedly. Forge nodded, smiled at me and walked out, leaving us alone. Logan took Forge's place next to me.

"Are you still in a bad mood?" I asked tentatively.

Logan sighed. "I think I'm going to be in a rough mood for a while, 'Ro." He leaned back and I scooted closer to him, uncaring that we were at work.

"You said so yourself. It'll work." I reminded him. "And I won't be far. And when you come visit me, you won't have to deal with my parents…" I waggled my brows suggestively.

He snorted. "Just Gumbo, Red and Scooter." But he sounded more relaxed.

"It will only suck for a semester," I said. "Then you'll be there with me." I reached for his hand.

"That'll be great darlin', but I'm nervous about leaving Rogue by herself." He admitted.

"She'll be ok," I was touched by the depths of his brotherly instinct. "And if Remy's at NYU, she's bound to be there too, as soon as she graduates." Remy and Rogue had become, just as, if not more so, attached at the hip as Logan and I.

My boyfriend rolled his eyes, "You got a point, darlin'."

Disregarding the fact that we were in public, he leaned over and kissed me hard, inches away from the place where we first had kissed.

"What the flaming f-!" Victor dropped whatever he was holding when he walked in on us. I waited with baited breath for Logan to snap back at him, but instead, he just smiled.

"Get back to work, Vic." He growled and winked at me.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I apologize for the delay! I must have written 5 possible endings for this story before I settled on this one. I tell you, writers block is no fun at all. Thank you to all of you who hung in there with this story, and thanks to all of you who reviewed! It's been fun! Have a Happy New Year!**

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I was sweating like a sow from the heat of the summer day. My hair, no longer shoulder length, was piled on top of my head in a messy bun. Strands of it clung to the moisture of my skin and I blew it out of my eyes, focusing on the task at hand. I used the wrench in my palm to tighten a bolt, then stood up and stepped back to admire my handiwork. The rusted old car, one that I supposed must have been red at some distant time in the past, still looked as ugly as the day I had bought it from the junkyard, but the inside was what was important. The engine and all of the interior workings had been replaced. I'd had help, but the majority of the work was mine.

The car was a present for Logan and a secret I had kept holed up in my garage since last Christmas. The previous owner, some guy in the Bronx, had all but given it to me. I'd been salvaging parts from everywhere I could find them for the last few months. With the help of Forge (via email and webcam) and some articles online, I'd hobbled my way through the process of fixing up the '69 GTO Judge. I'd heard Logan talking about muscle cars just before Christmas and decided to research them. At first, they looked like various copies of things I'd seen in _The Fast and the Furious_ but upon closer inspection I realized that there was an appeal to them. I bought the car on a whim one-three day weekend at school. There had been times where I had become overwhelmed while fixing it, to the point that Jean questioned my sanity. But Scott and Remy's enthusiasm at what I was trying to do kept me going. Rogue, though Remy's girlfriend and one of my best friends, had been kept in the dark for fear of her spilling the beans.

It wasn't easy keeping it a secret from Logan, especially when he joined me at NYU. But I worked on it during the early weeks of the summer when he was busy at work. Forge snuck off to help me with the finer points of it, and even my dad had chipped in, proud that I had learned something last year at the garage. The only thing now was to paint it, but had a plan for that worked out. Smiling, I wiped my brow. I'd reached my goal of finishing it in time for our anniversary.

The smile stuck to my face as I hurried to my room to shower and change. I powered through the door of my bedroom, stopping only to look at the collage of pictures that blanketed my wall since I had come home from college. Smiling images of Jean, Remy, Scott, my family, Rogue, Logan, and even Victor and Forge beamed down at me from every angle. A picture of Jean and I, dressed as superheroes for a Halloween party, was next to a photo of Scott and Remy's dorm room and the Call of Duty competition they had hosted. Over the year pictures were added of us in the library, at parties, in classrooms, relaxing in the dorms, out to eat, home visiting, and most recently, of all of us standing next to a beaming Rogue in her cap and gown. I took a moment to marvel at all of the experiences I'd had in one year.

A half hour later, I pulled on shorts and a simple tank top and headed downstairs. My dad smiled at me from his place on the living room couch.

"It looks good," he said, knowing I knew he was talking about the car. "is it ready?"

"I'm going to give it to him right now." I confirmed.

"N'Dare, how come you've never given me a car?" he shouted to my mother.

My mom walked out of the kitchen clutching a bowl of popcorn and several beers.

"I gave you a daughter. I thought that was gift enough," she said with fake haughtiness, prompting a playful nudge from my dad. I sensed that they were in a giddy mood, something I was pleased about but did not want to see. I waved my goodbye and hurried out the door.

The leather seats stuck to my bare legs as I drove the car to Bill's Garage. The windows were rolled down, allowing the warm breeze to air dry my damp hair. It took ten minutes to cut across town in the middle of a Saturday. I pulled the car around the back, hopped out and walked back around to the front door.

"Chickadee!" Victor bellowed the moment I walked in. "Where you been?"

He was leaning on the front counter, which looked as though it barely could support his weight. I smiled at him.

"I've got a present for Logan." I said.

"A little afternoon, delight, huh?" Creed leered at me. I laughed, too used to his suggestive banter to be offended.

"Something better," Creed's eyebrows rose at my words.

"Well in that case, he's out back," he jerked a massive thumb behind him.

I walked into the garage, breathing in the familiar scent of oil and metal. Forge caught my eye and I nodded at him. His eyes widened in excitement.

"He's in the office," he told me. "Where's-?"

"Out back." I said, holding a solitary finger to my lips.

My boyfriend was indeed in his office. I pushed open the door to the confined space. Logan was crammed in at his desk, studying a clipboard. The potted plant I had gotten him was flourishing from a corner of his workspace.

"Hey, darlin'." He greeted me with a grin. "What brings you out here?" he teased.

"You don't remember?" I faked indignation.

"Remember what?" his grin widened.

"A year ago, something happened right outside this door…" I hinted.

"Hmmm…" he mused. "I think I made out with some broad. Can't remember who it was though." His lips twitched as he tried not to smile.

I leaned in close, within inches of his face. "Mind if I refresh your memory?" Our lips met in a languorous kiss.

"I think I remember now," he told me when we pulled back. "Happy Anniversary, 'Ro."

"Happy Anniversary," I kissed him again. "Are you busy?" I gestured to his cluttered desk. "I thought we could go to lunch."

He flung his clipboard down. "Work can wait. Just let me change" He stood up and headed to the bathroom. I hid my smile at how flawlessly the plan was going. I just needed to get Logan out of the garage for an hour while Forge painted the car. We had agreed earlier, that while the original red would have been nice, black was more suited for Logan's personality.

An hour and a half later, we arrived back at the garage. I was clutching a bouquet of lilies that Logan had surprised me with before we went to my favorite restaurant. It was a mini date that I was sure that Jean would approve of. I suspected she might have even suggested it.

"Wait one second," I put a hand to his chest to stop him from going inside. He gave me a confused look. "My surprise is in there, but I have to check if it's ready." I said.

"In that case, do your thing, darlin'."

I looked in the door and found Forge. He gave me a thumbs up.

"Alright," I turned back to my boyfriend, "Close your eyes." Logan sportingly obliged me. I led him through the garage, taking some time to steer him in circles for my own amusement. After a moment, I pulled him out back.

"What's this all about, 'Ro?" Logan questioned when he opened his eyes. Forge had apparently taken the trouble to cover the gift with a white sheet. He winked at me from the backdoor. Victor had neglected the front counter in order to watch as well. The two were crammed in the doorway.

"Open it," I told Logan.

He shot me a puzzled look, but pulled the sheet off of the car. Upon seeing it, his jaw dropped and Creed began hooting in delight from behind us.

"Damn, chickadee!" Victor roared his approval as Logan stood there, blinking in shock. Even I was impressed by how good it looked all painted up and shining.

"Where'd you get this?" he finally asked, circling the car with an expression of delight.

"The Bronx. I drove it home, and I've been working on it. Well, with a little help," I amended. Forge grinned.

Logan took the time to look at every inch of the car, from under the hood to the interior.

"Guess I taught you something after all, huh darlin'?" he asked.

"Looks like it," I agreed. "I figured you fixed my car, I could fix one for you." I thought longingly of little yellow Mini Cooper at home.

"And," I added, "You can drive it on our secret awesome date tonight."

My boyfriend shook his head. "Can't keep nothing from you."

"Remember that," I said good naturedly.

Logan opened the door for me and I slid in. Victor and Forge took the hint and retreated back into the shop.

"Seriously, 'Ro, this is amazing," he ran his hand along the steering wheel.

"I just wanted to do something to let you know that I love you." Logan's eyes widened at the new admission. I waited with baited breath for his response.

"I love you too, Ororo." He told me seriously.

As Logan pulled me into his arms over the gear shift and laid a brusque kiss on my lips, I realized that I owed my Mini Cooper and that fire hydrant from last summer an awful lot.

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